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S.  WEIR  MITCHELL, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS 
ARE  GREEN 

A NOVEL 


S.  WEIR  MITCHELL 

M.D.,LL.D.,  HARVARD 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

I897  MJ 


Copyright,  1894,  by 

The  Century  Co. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


TO 

JOHN  L.  CADWALADER 

THE  FRIEND  OF  MANY  YEARS,— THE 
COMPANION  OF  MANY  SUMMERS 


! 


*ar? 


Ctt 

to 

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v:-4 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


CHAPTER  I 


HE  night  of  summer  comes  late  in 
this  north  land.  Although  it  was 
nearly  nine  o’clock,  the  shadows, 
long  gathering  in  the  valleys  and 
the  woods,  had  but  just  now  over- 
flowed onto  the  broad  levels  of  the 
river.  Above  was  hurry  of  low-lying  clouds,  through 
which  swift  star-gleams  seemed  to  flit,  like  the  mo- 
mentary beacons  of  the  rare  fireflies  along  the  shore. 
Far  away  the  shriek  of  a departing  train  broke  the 
general  stillness  and  rang  fainter  and  more  faint  in 
wild  variety  of  tones  among  the  farther  hills. 

On  the  bank  of  this  wide  Canadian  river,  a little 
above  the  margin,  stood  under  the  yet  dripping  trees 
a group  of  diverse  people,  but  all  of  one  household. 
Travel- weary  and  silent,  for  a time  they  looked  down 
on  the  dimly  lit  stream,  and  heard,  as  they  waited,  the 
murmur  and  hum  of  its  waters,  or,  with  eyes  as  yet 
unused  to  the  gloom,  strove  to  see  the  group  of  men 
about  the  boats  on  the  beach  below  them. 

“ This  way,  Margaret,”  said  a man’s  cheerful  voice; 

1 1 


I 


2 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“take  care;  there  is  my  arm,  dear.  How  delightful 
to  see  the  old  river  ! ” 

The  night  was  so  dark  that  Lyndsay  hesitated  as  he 
stood  on  the  verge. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” said  his  wife. 

“ I do  not  quite  like  to  go  up  to-night  in  this  depth 
of  darkness.  Do  you  think  it  quite  safe,  Polycarp  ? 
Can  you  see?” 

“ Not  very  well,”  said  the  guide,  “ but  soon  break 
and  have  heap  moon.” 

“I  think  we  must  risk  it,  my  dear.  You  will  go 
with  me.”  Then  he  said  a word  of  caution  to  the 
guides,  and  called  to  the  boys,  “Come,  Dicky,  and 
you,  Jackums.”  They  ran  down  the  slope  in  haste 
and  stood  a little,  made  quiet  for  once  in  their  noisy 
lives,  but  interested,  alert,  and  peering  through  the 
darkness. 

“ Is  that  you,  Tom  and  Ambrose  ? How  are  you 
all  ? and  Pierre  — have  you  kept  me  a big  salmon  ? ” 

He  shook  hands  with  each  of  the  guides,  having  a 
gay  word  of  kindly  remembrance  for  all  in  turn. 
Meanwhile  the  sister  of  the  boys  came  down  to  the 
canoes,  made  silent,  like  the  children,  by  the  night,  the 
pervasive  stillness,  and  the  novelty  of  the  situation* 

“ Baggage  gone  up,  Pierre  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Lyndsay ; everything  is  right, — and  the 
salmon  thick  as  pine-needles.  The  small  traps  are  all 
in.  We  might  be  getting  away.” 

“ Shall  the  women  need  their  waterproofs,  Tom  ? ” — 
this  to  a huge  form  which  loomed  large  as  it  moved 
among  the  other  men,  who  were  busy  adjusting  the 
small  freight  of  hand  baggage.  The  voice,  when  it 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


3 


broke  out  in  reply,  was,  even  for  a fellow  of  six  feet 
two,  of  unproportioned  loudness. 

“ They  won’t  want  none  5 it ’s  a-goin’  to  bust  out 
clear.” 

Miss  Anne  Lyndsay,  the  maiden  aunt  of  the  chil- 
dren, came  down  the  bank  as  Thunder  Tom  replied. 
Her  steps,  too  feeble  for  health,  were  thoughtfully 
aided  by  Edward,  the  youngest  boy.  To  her  turned 
Rose,  the  niece,  a woman  of  twenty  years. 

“ Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? ” 

She  felt  the  queer  impropriety  of  this  terrible  voice 
in  the  solemn  stillness  which,  somehow,  adequately 
suggested  the  tribute  of  the  bated  breath. 

“ Won’t  need  no  wraps,  Miss  Lyndsay.  Rain  ’s 
done.  There  fell  a power  of  water.” 

“What  a voice,  Aunt  Anne!”  said  Rose.  “It  ’s 
like  the  boom  of  the  sea.” 

“ He  explodes, — he  does  n’t  speak  5 a conversa- 
tional cannonade.” 

“ Hush,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  the  mother ; “ he  is 
quite  sensitive  about  it.  He  was  with  us  last  year, 
and  a very  good  man,  too,  as  I know.” 

“ Canoe  is  ready,  sir.” 

“ It  is  like  a parting  salute,”  said  Rose. 

“ Well,  my  dear,”  whispered  Miss  Anne,  “it  will  be 
a fine  reminder  for  a certain  person  ; all  things  have 
their  uses.” 

“ Thanks,  Aunt  Anne.  A certain  person  has  a not 
uncertain  consciousness  that  she  does  n’t  need  it. 
Folks  complain  that  we  women  speak  too  loud.  I am 
sure  our  men  have  lost  their  voices.  As  for  the  Eng- 
lish women  you  admire  so  much,  I could  hardly  un- 


4 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


derstand  them  at  all,  with  their  timid,  thin  voices, 
and  fat  a’s.” 

“ Stuff ! ” said  Miss  Anne.  “ That  is  English.” 

“ I prefer  Shakspere’s  English,”  said  Rose.  “ I ad- 
vise them  to  read  1 Love’s  Labor  ’s  Lost.’  ” 

“ That  is  our  old  battle-field,  Rose.  But  you  would 
have  to  be  consistent,  and  I do  assure  you,  if  you 
talked  as  Shakspere  talked,  you  would  make  a sen- 
sation.” 

“Come,  adjourn  that  skirmish,”  said  Archibald 
Lyndsay,  who  had  been  rearranging  the  canoeloads. 

Then  the  voice,  to  which  others  were  as  whispers, 
roared : 

“ Who  *s  for  where,  Mr.  Lyndsay  ? ” 

“All  right.  Tom,  your  voice  is  really  getting 
broken.  Come,  Margaret, — this  way  dear.” 

“ It ’s  so,”  said  Tom.  “ I kin  speak  bigger  if  I try,” 
— this  to  Miss  Lyndsay,  apologetically,  as  he  aided 
her  into  the  boat.  “ Fact  is,  Miss,  I was  twins,  like 
them  boys,  and  Bill  he  died.  He  had  n’t  no  voice  to 
count  on.  It  ’s  main  useful  when  you  ’re  drivin’ 
logs.” 

“What  a baby  he  must  have  been  in  a quiet 
family ! ” whispered  Anne  to  Rose  and  Ned.  “ Imag- 
ine it ! ” 

“ I did  n’t  understand  what  he  said,  Aunt  Anne,” 
remarked  the  boy. 

“ I do  not  think  he  quite  understood  himself.  Per- 
haps he  had  a vague  notion  that  he  had  to  talk  so  as 
to  represent  the  dead  brother,  1 who  had  n’t  no  voice 
to  count  on.’  ” 

“ I like  it,”  remarked  Rose.  “ Yes,  papa.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


5 


“This  way/7  said  Lyndg^y;  “here,  Margaret,  in 
my  canoe.77 

“ Could  I have  Ned  with  me,  brother?77  asked  Miss 
Anne. 

“Certainly.  Here,  in  this  canoe,  not  the  birch. 
This  one, — now,  so,  with  your  face  up  the  river,  and 
you,  Ned, — yes,  on  the  cushion  on  the  bottom.77 

“ How  comfortable ! 77  said  Anne,  as  she  leaned  back 
on  a board  set  at  a slope  against  the  seat. 

“And  now,  Margaret, — you  and  I,  together  with 
Pierre  and  — Halloa  there,  Gemini ! Oh,  you  are  in 
the  birch  already.  No  nonsense,  now ! No  larking ! 
These  birches  turn  over  like  tumbler-pigeons.77 

“ You,  dear,77 — to  Rose, — “ you  are  to  go  with  Poly- 
carp and  Ambrose.  By  yourself,  my  child  ? Yes.77 

There  was  a special  note  of  tenderness  in  his  voice 
as  he  spoke. 

“ How  is  that,  Rosy  Posy  ? 77 

“Delightful!  How  well  you  know!  And  I did 
want  to  be  alone, — just  to-night, — for  a little  while.77 

“Yes.77  As  he  released  her  hand  he  kissed  her. 
“Now,  away  with  you.77  In  a few  moments  the  little 
fleet  was  off,  and  the  paddles  were  splashing  jets  of 
white  out  of  the  deep  blackness  of  the  stream.  By 
degrees  the  canoes  fell  apart.  Despite  the  parental 
warning,  the  twins  had  secured  paddles,  and  were  more 
or  less  competently  aiding  their  men,  so  that  soon  they 
were  far  ahead. 

Lyndsay  chatted  with  his  guides  of  the  salmon,  and 
of  his  luggage  and  stores,  sent  up  the  day  before. 
Aunt  Anne  and  her  favorite  Ned  were  silent  for  a 
time;  buttheboy7s  glance  roamed  restlessly  from  sky 
i* 


C 


6 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


to  stream,  and  up  over  tlie  great  dim  hills.  At  last 
he  said : 

“ Hark,  Aunt  Anne  5 how  loud  things  sound  at 
night!” 

“ Them  7s  the  rapids,”  said  Tom,  in  tones  that  made 
Miss  Lyndsay  start.  “ Them  7s  a mile  away.” 

“ I suppose,  Ned,  that  when  all  one7s  other  senses 
are  more  or  less  unused,  the  ear  may  hear  more  dis- 
tinctly ) at  all  events,  what  you  say  is  true,  I think.  If 
I want  to  hear  very  plainly,  I am  apt  to  shut  my  eyes 
— good  music  always  makes  me  do  that” 

u That  7s  so,”  said  John.  He  considered  himself 
quite  free  to  have  his  share  in  the  talk.  “ When  1 7m 
callin7  moose,  I most  alius  shuts  my  eyes  to  listen  to 
them  trumpetin7  back.  Dory  Maybrook  was  a-sayin7 
that  same  thing  las7  Toosday  a week.  We  was  a-settin7 
out  by  her  wood-pile.  An7  she  sat  there  a-thinkin7. 
An7  says  she,  ‘It  7s  cui^ous  how  you  can  hear  things  at 
night.7  Jus’  like  you  said.  Hiram  he  was  a-choppin7.” 
u Who  is  Dory  Maybrook  ? 77  said  Ned. 

“ Well,  she  7s  Dory  Maybrook ; she  7s  Hiram7s  wife. 
Hiram  7s  her  husband,77  and  he  laughed, — laughed  as 
he  talked,  so  that  the  noise  of  it  boomed  across  the 
wide  waters. 

Again  for  a while  they  were  silent,  asking  no  more 
questions.  The  aunt  was  wondering  what  could  have 
given  big  Tom  his  overpowering  voice,  and  how  it 
would  affect  one  to  live  with  such  an  organ.  She 
turned  it  over  in  her  mind  in  all  its  droller  aspects, 
imagining  Tom  making  love,  or  at  his  sonorous  devo- 
tions, for  to  Anne  Lyndsay  there  were  few  things  in 
life  remote  from  the  possibility  of  humorous  relation. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


7 


Twice  the  boy  asked  if  she  were  comfortable,  or 
warm  enough,  and,  reassured,  fell  back  into  the  pos- 
session of  the  deepening  night  and  the  black  water, 
whence,  suddenly,  here  and  there,  flashed  something 
white  through  the  blackness,  like,  as  the  lad  thought, 
the  snowy  wings  of  the  turning  sea-gulls  he  had  seen 
over  the  St.  Lawrence  at  break  of  day. 

In  the  other  canoe,  far  behind  and  out  of  sight, 
Rose  Lyndsay  lay,  propped  against  the  baggage,  in 
delicious  contentment  of  mind  and  body.  It  was  a 
vast  and  satisfying  change  from  the  completed  civili- 
zations of  the  world  of  Europe,  where  for  a year  she 
had  wandered  with  Anne  Lyndsay.  Three  weeks  be- 
fore the  evening  on  which  begins  my  tale,  she  was  in 
London,  and  now  she  was  greeted  with  a sudden 
sense  of  emancipation  from  the  world  of  convention- 
alities. Neither  father  nor  mother  was  exclusively 
represented  in  this  happily  fashioned  womanhood. 
And  thus  it  was  that  her  inherited  qualities  so  modi- 
fied one  another  that  people  missed  the  resemblances, 
and  said  only  that  she  was  like  none  of  her  people. 

Nevertheless,  she  had  her  father’s  taste  and  capacity 
for  seeing  accurately  and  enjoying  the  simple  uses  of 
observation,  with  also,  in  a measure,  what  he  some- 
what lacked- — the  aunt’s  unending  joy  in  all  humor; 
sharing  with  her  the  privilege  of  finding  a smile  or  a 
laugh  where  others,  who  lack  this  magic,  can  only 
conjure  sadness.  She  saw  with  mental  directness,  and, 
where  her  affections  were  not  concerned,  acted  without 
the  hesitations  which  perplex  the  inadequate  thinker. 

Her  aunt,  to  whom  she  bore  some  resemblance  in 
face,  had  learned  much  in  a life  of  nearly  constant 


8 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


sickness,  but  never  the  power  to  restrain  her  fatal  in- 
cisiveness of  speech.  She  could  hurt  herself  with  it 
as  well  as  annoy  others,  as  she  well  knew.  But  in 
her  niece,  keenness  of  perception  and  large  sense  of 
the  ridiculous  were  put  to  no  critical  uses.  The  sim- 
ple kindliness  of  her  mother  was  also  hers. 

At  times  in  life  permanent  qualities  of  mind  vary  in 
the  importance  of  the  use  we  make  of  them.  Rose 
was  now  in  the  day  of  questions.  Everything  inter- 
ested her  : an  immense  curiosity  sharpened  her  natu- 
rally acute  mental  vision ; an  eloquently  imaginative 
nature  kept  her  supplied  with  endless  queries.  The 
hour  of  recognized  limitations  had  not  yet  struck  for 
her.  Now  she  set  the  broad  sails  of  a willing  mood, 
and  gave  herself  up  to  the  influences  of  the  time  and 
place.  Deep  darkness  was  about  her.  The  sky 
seemed  to  be  low  above  her.  The  dusky  hills  ap- 
peared to  be  close  at  hand  on  each  side.  The  water 
looked,  as  it  Tose  to  left  and  right,  as  though  the 
sky,  the  waves,  the  hills  were  crowding  in  upon  her, 
and  she,  sped  by  rhythmic  paddles,  was  flitting  through 
a lane  of  narrowing  gloom. 

The  impression  I describe,  of  being  walled  in  at 
night  by  water,  hill,  and  sky,  is  familiar  to  the  more 
sensitive  of  those  who  are  wise  enough  to  find  their 
holiday  by  wood  and  stream.  The  newness  of  the 
sensation  charmed  the  girl.  Then  in  turn  came  to 
her  the  noise  of  the  greater  rapids,  as,  after  two  hours, 
the  river  became  more  swift. 

Twi,ce  she  had  spoken;  but  twice  the  dark  guide 
had  made  clear  to  her  that  he  needed  all  his  wits 
about  him,  and  once  he  had  altogether  failed  to  an- 
swer her  or,  perhaps,  to  hear  at  all.  But  now  the 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


9 


clouds  began  to  break,  and  the  night  became  clear,  so 
that  all  objects  were  more  easily  discernible.  “Is 
your  name  Polycarp  ? ” she  said,  at  last,  turning  as  she 
sat  to  look  back  at  the  impassive  figure  in  the  stern. 

“ 1 7m  Polycarp,”  said  the  Indian. 

“ What  is  that  I hear  ? Of  course  I hear  the  rapids, 
but  — it  is  like  voices  and — and  — laughter.  Is  it  only 
the  rapids?  How  strange!  Could  you  — just  stop 
paddling  a moment?” 

The  paddles  were  silent,  and  she  listened.  The 
sounds  came  and  went,  mysteriously  rising,  falling,  or 
changing,  despite  the  absence  of  wind,  as  they  drifted 
downward  when  the  paddles  no  longer  moved.  Mr. 
Lyndsay’s  canoe  overtook  them.  “ What  is  it  ? ” he 
called.  “ Anything  wrong  ? ” 

“ No,  no  ! I wanted  to  hear  the  rapids.  They  seem 
like  voices.” 

“Ask  me  about  that  to-morrow,”  said  her  father, 
“ but  push  on  now.  We  shall  be  late  enough.” 

Again  the  paddles  fell,  and  her  canoe  slid  away  into 
the  ever-deepening  night.  Of  a sudden  her  trance  of 
thought  was  broken,  and  over  the  waters  from  the 
twins  came  snatches  of  song,  bits  of  Scotch  ballads, 
familiar  in  this  household.  At  last  she  smiled  and 
murmured,  “ The  scamps ! ” They  were  caroling  the 
song  with  which  they  had  been  fond  of  mocking  her 
in  her  girlhood. 

“ There  are  seven  fair  flowers  in  yon  green  wood, 

In  a bush  in  the  woods  o’  Lyndsaye  ; 

There  are  seven  braw  flowers  an’  ae  bonny  bud, 

Oh!  the  bonniest  flower  in  Lyndsaye. 

An*  weel  love  I the  bonny,  bonny  rose  — 

The  bonny,  bonny  Rose-a-Lyndsaye ; 

K 


10 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GREEN 


An’  I ’ll  big  my  bower  o’  the  forest  boughs, 

An’  I ’ll  dee  in  the  green  woods  o’  Lyndsaye. 

“ Her  face  is  like  the  evenin’  lake, 

That  the  birk  or  the  willow  fringes, 

Whose  peace  the  wild  wind  canna  break, 

Or  but  its  beauty  changes. 

An’  she  is  aye  my  bonny,  bonny  rose, 

She ’s  the  bonny  young  Rose-a-Lyndsaye ; 

An’  ae  blink  of  her  e’e  wad  be  dearer  to  me 
Than  the  wale  o’  the  lands  o’  Lyndsaye.” 

The  voices  rang  clear  a moment,  and  then  were  lost, 
and  heard  anew,  without  seeming  cause  for  the  break. 
Then  came  a fresh  snatch  of  song : 

u Come  o’er  the  stream,  Charlie, 

Braw  Charlie,  brave  Charlie ; 

Come  o’er  the  stream,  Charlie, 

And  dine  with  McClain.” 

As  she  listened  and  caught  the  wilder  notes  of  Bur- 
nieboozle,  they  fell  into  the  orchestral  oppositions  of 
the  rapids,  and  died  to  the  ear  amid  the  cry  and  crash 
and  hoarse  noises  of  the  broken  waters. 

Rose  saw  the  men  rise  and  take  their  poles,  and  felt 
amidst  the  beautiful  dim  vision  of  white  wave-crests 
how  the  frail  canoe  quivered  as  it  was  driven  up  the 
watery  way. 

Then  they  kept  to  the  shore  under  the  trees,  the 
poles  monotonously  ringing,  with  ever  around  her, 
coming  and  going,  that  delicious  odor  of  the  spruce, 
richest  after  rain,  which  to  smell  in  the  winter,  amid 
the  roar  of  the  city,  brings  to  the  wood-farer  the 
homesickness  of  the  distant  forest.  Her  dreamy 
mood  once  broken  was  again  disturbed  by  that  rare 
speaker,  the  silent  Polycarp. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


11 


u I smell  camp.” 

“ What ! ” she  said. 

“ Yes — very  good  smell  — when  bacon  fry  — smell 
him  long  away  — two  mile.” 

“ I smell  it,”  she  said.  u How  strange ! ” 

“ Smell  fry  long  way  — smell  baccy  not  so  far. 
Smell  Mr.  Lyndsay  pipe  little  while  back.” 

And  now  far  ahead  she  saw  lights,  and  started  as 
the  Indian  smote  the  water  with  the  flat  of  his  paddle, 
making  a loud  sound,  which  came  back  in  altered  notes 
from  the  hills  about  them. 

“ Make  ’em  hear  at  camp.” 

Presently  she  was  at  the  foot  of  a little  cliff,  where 
the  twins  were  already  noisily  busy. 

“ Halloa,  Rose ! Can  you  see  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Jack.” 

“ Is  n’t  it  jolly  ? Give  me  a hand.” 

“ No,  me.” 

“ This  beats  Columbus,”  said  the  elder  lad.  u Take 
care,  Spices  ” — this  to  the  younger  twin,  who,  by  reason 
of  many  freckles,  was  known  in  the  household,  to  his 
disgust,  as  the  Cinnamon  Bear,  Cinnamon,  Spices,  or 
Bruin,  as  caprice  dictated. 

“ I ’ll  punch  your  red  head,  Rufus,”  cried  the  lad. 
“ You  just  wait,  Ruby.” 

“ Boys ! boys ! ” said  Rose.  “ Now  each  of  you  give 
me  a hand.  Don’t  begin  with  a quarrel.” 

“It. is  n’t  a quarrel;  it ’s  a row,”  said  Jack. 
“Adistinctionnotwithoutadifference/’laughedRose. 
“ Oh,  here  is  everybody.”  And  with  jest  and  laughter 
they  climbed  the  steps  cut  in  the  cliff,  and  gaily  entered 
the  cabin  which  was  to  be  their  home  for  some  weeks. 


12 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


There  was  a large,  low-raftered  room,  covered  with 
birch-bark  of  many  tints.  On  each  side  were  two 
chambers,  for  the  elders.  The  boys,  to  their  joy,  were 
to  sleep  in  tents  on  the  bluff,  near  to  where  the  tents 
of  the  guides  were  pitched,  a little  away  from  the 
cabin,  and  back  of  a roaring  camp-fire.  Behind  the 
house  a smaller  cabin  sufficed  for  a kitchen,  and  in 
the  log-house,  where  also  a fire  blazed  in  ruddy  wel- 
come, not  ungrateful  after  the  coolness  of  the  river, 
the  supper-table  was  already  set.  As  Rose  got  up 
from  table,  after  the  meal,  she  missed  her  mother,  and, 
taking  a shawl,  went  out  onto  the  porch  which  sur- 
rounded the  house  on  all  sides. 

For  a moment,  she  saw  only  the  upward  flare  of  the 
northern  lights,  and  then,  presently,  Mrs.  Lyndsay, 
standing  silent  on  the  bluff,  with  a hand  on  Ned’s 
shoulder,  looking  across  the  river.  Rose  quietly  laid 
the  shawl  over  her  mother’s  shoulders,  and  caught  her 
hand.  Mrs.  Lyndsay  said,  “ Thank  you,  dear  Rose,  but 
I want  to  be  alone  a little.  I shall  come  in  very  soon.” 
They  went  without  a word,  meeting  their  father  just 
within  the  door.  “ Mother  sent  us  in,”  said  Rose. 

“ I understand,”  and  he  also  turned  back.  “ It  is 
Harry!  It  is  about  Harry.” 

“ Yes,  it  is  Harry,”  repeated  Rose;  for  the  year  be- 
fore Mrs.  Lyndsay  had  left  a little  weakly  fellow,  her 
youngest,  in  the  rude  burial-ground  of  the  small 
Methodist  church,  some  miles  away,  up  the  stream. 
She  had  been  alone  with  Mr.  Lyndsay  and  the  child, 
and.it  had  been  her  first  summer  on  the  river.  When, 
the  next  spring,  she  had  proposed  to  take  thither  the 
whole  family,  her  husband  had  gladly  consented. 


CHAPTER  II 


RS.  LYNDSAY  — comely,  rosy,  in 
the  vigor  of  young  middle-life  — 
was  the  first  to  welcome  the  snn,  as 
it  came  over  the  hills  beyond  the 
river.  In  the  camps  was  stir  of 
breakfast,  and  silent,  inverted  cones 
of  smoke  from  the  fires.  Soon  Rose,  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  cried  “ Good  morning ! ” and  the  mother  saw 
the  strong,  well-built  girl  come  toward  her,  and  had 
pride  in  her  vigor  and  sweetness.  They  kissed,  and 
the  mother  went  in,  and  Rose  back  to  her  maiden 
meditations. 

She  sat  down  on  a camp-stool,  and  felt  that  for  the 
first  time  she  had  leisure  to  think.  She  and  her  aunt 
had  been  met  by  her  father  when  their  steamer  came, 
and  amidst  incessant  questions  they  had  been  hurried 
off  into  the  wilds  of  New  Brunswick.  A year  away 
had  made  for  her  new  possibilities  of  observation,  and 
now,  with  surprised  interest,  she  found  herself  in  the 
center  of  a household  which,  assuredly,  even  to  the 
more  experienced,  would  have  seemed  peculiar.  It 
was,  in  fact,  more  peculiar  than  odd.  There  was  no 
eccentricity,  but  much  positive  character.  This  Rose 
Lyndsay  saw  as  she  had  never  seen  it  before.  The 
growth  of  definitely  marked  natures  in  the  boys  struck 

13 


C 


14 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


her,  the  fresh  air  of  a kind  of  family  freedom  rare 
elsewhere;  the  audacity  of  the  lads’  comments,  and 
their  easy  relations  with  the  father,  were  things  which 
now  she  saw  anew  with  more  thoughtfully  observant 
eyes. 

It  were  well  to  say,  however,  that  it  was  a republic 
with  sudden  probabilities  of  dictatorship,  and  that  a 
stranger  coming  within  its  circle  rarely  beheld  much 
of  the  outspoken  fashions  and  droll  appearance  of 
equality  which,  at  times,  seemed  to  disregard  the  def- 
erence ordinarily  yielded  to  parental  opinion.  In 
fact,  there  was  a comfortable  sense  of  comradeship 
all  around,  which  had  its  values,  and  with  it  an  affec- 
tion so  strong  that  the  wounds  of  all  intellectual  dif- 
ferences, and  of  the  somewhat  rare  physical  contests 
of  the  boys,  were  easily  healed  by  its  constancy,  and 
by  the  father’s  power  to  make  each  see  in  all  the  rest 
their  specifically  valuable  traits.  Some  things  which 
in  other  households  are  looked  upon  as  serious  were 
in  this  little  noticed, — while,  as  to  certain  lapses, 
punishment  was  apt  to  be  severe  enough. 

By  and  by  Ned  came  out  and  sat  down  by  Rose. 
He  was  the  most  silent  of  them  all. 

“Well,”  said  Rose,  as  he  kissed  her,  “is  n’t  it  beau- 
tiful, Ned?  Look  at  the  low  meadows  down  below 
the  elms,  and  the  cliffs  opposite,  and  the  wild  water ! 
Don’t  you  love  it  ? ” 

“ I think  I — I like  it,”  he  replied.  “ How  black 
the  water  looks  — how  wilful  it  looks  — that  was 
what  I wanted  to  say.  I think  I like  it,  Rose.  Some- 
times I don’t  like  things  other  people  like, — I mean 
grown-up  people.  I suppose  that  ?s  very  stupid.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


15 


“ No, — oh,  no ! ” She  was  struck  with  the  oddness 
of  some  aspects  of  his  mind.  “ Was  that  what  trou- 
bled you  yesterday,  when  we  were  all  looking  at  that 
great  flare  of  red  sunset  light, — you  would  n’t  speak?” 
“ It  was  beautiful,  but — you  won’t  tell,  Rose  ? — the 
Bear  and  Rufus  would  laugh  at  me, — it  was  terrible ! ” 
She  looked  aside  at  him,  curious  and  interested. 
“ I think  I understand,  and  I shall  never,  never  laugh 
at  you,  Ned.  You  must  tell  me  everything.” 

“ Sometimes  I can’t,”  he  said.  “It  is  queer,  but 
sometimes  I don’t  want  to.”  He  was  truthful  to  a 
fault,  and  was  of  no  mind  to  make  unconditional 
treaties. 

“ I understand  that,  too  ” ; and  then  they  fell  into 
lighter  chat  of  friends  and  cousins,  until  Mr.  Lynd- 
say  called  “breakfast,”  from  the  cabin-door,  and  they 
went  in. 

The  twins  were  scarcely  more  than  wide-awake 
enough  to  settle  down  to  serious  work  at  bread  and 
butter  and  porridge.  The  canned  milk  they  pro- 
nounced abominable,  but  soon  learned  that  Mrs.  May- 
brook’s  cows  would  furnish  a fair  supply  of  their 
essential  diet.  Miss  Anne  came  in  a little  wearily, 
glad  as  she  moved  of  the  stay  of  a chair-back  and  the 
boys’  help,  for  they  all  rose  at  once. 

“ Did  you  sleep  well  ? ” said  Lyndsay. 

“ No ; worse  than  usual.” 

“ I thought  by  your  smiling  you  would  have  had  a 
good  night,  but  your  dear  old  face  is  a dreadful  pur- 
veyor of  fibs.  Are  you  feeling  badly  to-day  ? ” 

“Sh — sh — !”  she  cried,  “don’t  dose  me  with  my- 
self, Archy ; as  that  delightful  Mrs.  Maybrook  said  to 


16 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


Margaret,  ‘I  do  hate  to  be  babied/  Is  that  your  tenth 
corncake,  Jack  ? 77 

“ Ninth,  aunty,  — I have  to  eat  for  yon  and  me. 
I 7m  like  Thunder  Tom7s  voice.77 

“ That  7s  the  good  of  being  twins, — you  can  eat  for 
two!77  cried  Ned. 

“It  7s  my  seventh,77  said  Dick,  complacently.  “I 
would  n7t  be  such  a G.  I.  P.  as  Jack.77 

“ Sudden  death  is  what  he  will  get,77  returned  Dick. 

“ Your  seventh,77  said  Anne.  “ But  how  can  one  die 
better  than  facing  fearful  odds?77  And  then  there 
was  a little  moment  of  laughter,  and  the  gay  chatter 
went  on.  At  last  Mr.  Lyndsay  said: 

“ When  you  are  through,  boys,  with  this  astounding 
breakfast,  we  will  talk  of  our  plans.  Your  mother 
wants  to  go  up  the  river.  She  shall  have  the  two 
Gasp6  men.  Rose,  you  will  go  with  me  for  a first 
lesson  in  salmon-fishing,  and  you  three  boys  shall  go 
with  Polycarp  after  trout.  Lunch  at  one;  and  re- 
member, boys,  no  nonsense  in  the  canoe,  mind.  This 
water  is  too  cold  and  too  swift  to  trifle  with.  You 
are  a pretty  bad  lot,  but  I should  not  like  to  have  to 
choose  which  I would  part  with.  As  Marcus  Aurelius 
said,  1 Girls  make  existence  difficult,  but  boys  make  it 
impossible.7  77 

“ Who  ? What  ? 77  cried  Rose. 

“That  was  because  of  Master  Commodus,77  said 
Ned. 

“ 1 7d  like  to  have  licked  him,77  remarked  Jack,  whose 
remedial  measures  were  always  combative. 

“ He  was  not  a nice  boy,  like  me,77  said  Dick  with  a 
grin. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  17 

“Like  who?  I hope  he  spoke  Latin  with  decent 
correctness.  Out  with  you ! 77 

“I  had  almost  forgotten  about  Marc.  Aurelius,  aunt, 77 
said  Rose,  aside.  “ I was  really  taken  in  for  a moment.77 

It  was  a family  fiction,  and  still  a half  belief,  that 
Archibald  Lyndsay  would  some  day  publish  a great 
commentary  on  the  famous  emperor7s  philosophy; 
meanwhile  it  served  a variety  of  humorous  purposes. 

“ I shall  provide  myself  with  a book  and  sunshine,77 
said  Miss  Anne,  “ and  then  with  a good  field-glass,  I 
shall  own  the  world, — mental  and  physical.77 

“ But  are  the  books  unpacked  ? 77  said  Rose. 

“ No,  but  I have  all  I want.  I must  go  and  see.77 

Rose  set  out  a lounging-chair  on  the  porch,  put  be- 
side it  a foot-stool  and  a rude  little  table,  made  by  a 
guide,  and  following  her  aunt  to  her  room,  came  back 
laughing  with  an  arm-load  of  books.  Archibald  Lynd- 
say smiled. 

“ No  wonder  that  man  at  St.  Lambert7s  groaned  over 
Anne7s  trunk.77 

“ That  delightful  man ! 77  cried  Rose,  “ who  checked 
baggage,  switched  the  trains  off  and  on,  sold  tickets, 
answered  questions,  and  did  the  work  of  three  and 
laughed  for  six.  He  told  papa  ‘he  guessed  he  was  n7t 
no  Canadian.  Not  much  S Had  to  go  down  to  York 
State  once  a year  to  eat  pumpkin-pie  and  get  sot  up  — 
kind  of.7  77 

“ He  was  of  the  best  type  of  our  people,77  said  Lynd- 
say. “ Come,  Rose ; Anne  appears  to  be  reasonably 
supplied.77 

“ I should  think  so,  papa.  But  I must  see,—  wait 
a bit.77 

C * 


2 


18 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Oh ! 77  lie  exclaimed,  picking  the  books  up  in  turn, 
“ ‘ Massillon/  ‘ Feuchtersleben/  what  a name  ! c Di- 
etetics of  the  Soul/  what  a droll  business ! The  Mys- 
tery of  Pain,  my  poor  Anne  ! 1 History  of  the  Council 
of  Trent/  good  gracious ! 77 

At  this  moment  his  sister  reappeared.  “ Are  you 
supplied  for  the  morning,  Anne  ? Past  risk  of  famine, 
eh ! 77 

“ Not  too  heavily ,77  she  said.  “ You  know  what  Mar- 
cus Aurelius  says  about  books.  4 There  is  nothing  as  eco- 
nomical as  a bad  memory,  because  then  there  ariseth 
no  need  to  buy  many  books/  That  is  my  case/7 

“ Then  this  is  all/7  laughed  Lyndsay,  pointing  with 
his  pipe-stem  to  the  table.  “Hum!  Well,  well! 
Come,  Rose.77 

“Yes,  go!77  cried  Anne,  seating  herself,  “and  take 
with  you  Epictetus.  4 If  that  which  is  of  another7s 
life  perplex  thy  judgment,  go  a-fishing, — for  there 
thou  shall  find  more  innocent  uncertainties,  and  will 
capture  the  whale  wisdom,  if  thou  takest  nothing  else.7 
You  may  recall  the  passage.  Carp  might  have  been 
the  fish.  Eh,  Archie  ? 77 

“Stuff  and  nonsense!77  cried  her  brother,  as  they 
turned  away.  “ Anne  gets  worse  day  by  day,  Rose. 
Come.  Marcus  Aurelius,  Epictetus,  indeed ! 77 

As  they  went  down  the  steps  to  the  bluff,  Anne 
Lyndsay,  her  thin  white  hands  in  her  lap,  looked  after 
them.  Her  face  was  rarely  without  a smile  ,•  but,  as 
Rose  said  truly,  “Aunt  Anne  wears  her  smiles  with  a 
difference/7  Just  now  her  smile  was  delicately  flavored 
with  a look  of  satisfied  affection.  As  she  looked  over 
liver  and  sun-lit  hills,  a sharp  twinge  of  pain  crossed 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


19 


her  face,  and  her  hands  shut  tight  a moment,  while  the 
sweat  of  a brief  but  overpowering  pang  wrung  from 
her  lips  an  exclamation.  Her  life  had  been  physically 
narrowing  for  years.  As  she  became  less  and  less 
able  to  go  here  and  there,  to  do  this  or  that,  she  more 
and  more  resolutely  broadened  the  horizon  of  her 
mental  activities,  but,  no  matter  what  happened,  she 
continued  to  smile  at  or  with  everything,  herself  in- 
cluded. Now  she  wiped  her  forehead,  and  fell  to 
smiling  again,  looking  sharply  about  her,  for  this 
woman  immensely  disliked  to  be  seen  in  the  rare  mo- 
ments when  pain  was  too  emphatic  for  absolute  si- 
lence. “I  wonder  why  I hate  to  be  seen,”  she  said 
aloud,  being  unusually  given  to  soliloquizing ; for,  as 
she  liked  to  explain,  “ I have  more  respect  for  my  own 
opinion  if  I say  it  out.  It  is  easier  to  disregard  the 
unspoken.  I like  to  think  I have  the  good  manners  to 
listen  to  myself.  It  does  so  trouble  Archie,  and  that 
girl,  for  a day  when  I break  up.  I wonder  if  that 
small  Spartan  had  had  the  perpetual  company  of  his 
fox,  how  long  he  would  have  gone  on  without  squeal- 
ing. I know  he  wriggled,”  she  said,  and  so  fell  to 
laughing,  after  which  she  lay  back  in  her  chair,  waved 
her  handkerchief  to  Rose,  and  began  to  read. 

While  the  Graspe  canoe  went  away  up  the  stream, 
urged  by  skilful  arms,  Archibald  Lyndsay  and  Rose 
talked  merrily. 

u I told  those  boys  to  keep  their  eyes  open,  and  not 
to  come  back  and  tell  me  they  had  seen  nothing  in 
particular.  As  for  Ned,  he  is  sure  to  see  certain  things 
and  not  others.  He  is  a dreamer, — oh,  worse  than 
ever,  my  dear, — it  grows  on  him.” 


20 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ But  his  dreams  — ” 

“ Yes,  I know.  There  is  always  something  in  them. 
He  seems  to  me,  Rose,  too  absent-minded  for  this 
world’s  uses.  At  times  he  puzzles  me.  He  is  the  duck 
in  my  henbrood.” 

“ He  is  pure  gold.” 

“ Yes,  but  when  he  comes  to  be  put  into  current 
coin, — really,  I don’t  know.  As  to  Rufus, — Dick,  I 
mean,  I hate  nicknames,  and  this  family  has  enough 
for  a directory  ; you  will  have  six  a week, — as  to 
Red-head  — ” 

Rose  laughed. 

"I  get  no  more  respect  in  this  household  than — ” 

“ Oh,  was  that  a salmon  ? ” A fish,  some  three  feet 
long,  leaped  high  in  air,  dripping  silver  in  the  sun, 
and  fell  with  a mighty  swash  into  the  glowing  waters. 

“Yes;  there ’s  another!  As  to  Dick,  he  sees  every- 
thing, and  for  questions  — you  are  nothing  to  him.  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  them,  Rose.” 

“ And  J ack  ? v 

“ Oh,  Jack ! Jack  will  do.  He  hates  books,  but  he 
also  hates  defeat, — a first-rate  quality,  Rose.  He  is 
one  of  the  three  people  I have  seen  in  my  life  who 
honestly  enjoy  peril.  That  comes  from  his  Uncle 
Robert.  My  poor  Robin  used  to  laugh  when  he  rode 
into  the  hottest  fight ! ” 

Rose,  remembering  how  the  major  died  at  Antietam, 
was  silent.  Her  father  was  also  quiet  for  a few  mo- 
ments. 

“ That  boy  must  always  be  fighting  somebody.  J ust 
now,  he  and  Ned  have  a standing  difficulty  about  the 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


21 


Roundheads  and  Jacobites.  I believe  it  has  cost  two 
black  eyes  already.” 

“ How  funny ! What  do  you  do  about  it  ? ” 

“ I ? Nothing.  Ned  is  like  a cat  for  activity,  small 
as  he  is,  and  as  to  an  occasional  black  eye, — well,  I 
don’t  ask  too  many  questions.” 

“ But  does  n’t  it  distress  mother  ? ” 

“ Yes,  yes,  of  course ; but  so  long  as  they  love  one 
another,  I find  it  wise  to  say  little.  By  and  by,  dear, 
when  you  are  married,  and  have  a lot  of  boys  of  your 
own,  you  will  understand  the  wisdom  of  knowing 
when  not  to  see, — when  not  to  ask  questions.” 

This  astounding  improbability,  of  a sudden,  struck 
Rose  dumb.  Then  she  said,  abruptly,  “ Who  is  that 
away  up  the  river?  ” 

“ Two  young  Boston  men.  Are  they  from  the  island 
camp,  Tom  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  Tom,  in  his  great  voice.  “ Mr. 
Ellett,  and  Mr. — I don’t  rightly  mind  me  of  the  other 
man’s  name.  Think  it ’s  Carington.” 

“ Rather  a pretty  name,”  said  Rose, — “ Carington.” 
“ Not  a New  England  name,  I suspect.  Probably 
Southern.  How  easily  one  tells  where  most  of  our 
family  names  belong, — the  older  ones,  I mean.  Oh, 
there  is  their  camp.  See  how  neat  everything  is  about 
their  tents.  Above  this  point,  Rose,  there  are  a few 
clearings,  and  the  graveyard  lies  back  from  the  shore, 
where  our  Harry  is  buried.  Poor  little  man ! He  was 
well  out  of  it,  Rose,  well  out  of  it.  We  rarely  talk  of 
him.  Your  mother  dislikes  it.  For  myself,  I like 
better  to  speak  of  my  dead  — and  they  are  many— in  a 


2* 


22 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


wholesome  way,  without  the  strange  reserve  which 
even  the  best  of  folks  have  about  their  lost  ones. 
However ! ” 

“ Shall  we  anchor  to  the  head  of  the  pool,  sir  ? ” said 
Tom. 

“Yes,  yes.  And  now,  Rose,  I want  first  to  have 
you  watch  me  closely, — hand,  rod,  and  line, — and  to 
try  to  follow  the  fly  on  the  water.  I promise  you  to 
talk  enough  about  the  trees  and  the  waters  next  Sun- 
day. There  are  some  dead  forests  above  us,  on  the 
river,  from  which  I want  sketches  made  ; but  now  it 
is  the  more  serious  business  of  the  salmon ; ask  what 
you  like.” 

“ Well,  then,  is  n’t  it  late  to  fish  ? It  is  eight  o’clock.” 

“ No , the  salmon  is  an  aristocrat,  and  rises  late.  If 
you  want  striped  bass,  the  break  of  day  is  none  too 
early.” 

“ But  will  that  thin  line  — what  you  call  the  casting- 
line  — hold  a great  thing  like  the  fish  I saw  leap  ? ” 

“Yes,  with  the  bend  and  give  of  this  sixteen-foot 

rod,  and  the  certainty  with  which  these  matchless 
Yom  Hoff  reels  work.  Look,  now,  the  day  is  pleas- 
antly cloudy,  the  water  a little  thick,  riled, — roily, 
if  you  like.  I think  a silver  doctor  — that  ’s  a fly, 

see,  Rose  — will  do.  There,  you  can  look  over  my 
fly-book.” 

“Well,”  said  Rose,  “I  am  compelled  to  sympathize 
with  the  salmon.  Are  not  our  Anglo-Saxon  ideas  of 
sport  a little  hard  on  birds  and  fish  ? ” 

“We  will  adjourn  that  discussion,”  said  her  father, 
“until  you  see  a salmon.  Then  we  shall  know 
whether  your  store  of  pity  will  hold  out.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


23 


The  canoe  was  now  anchored  in  some  fonr  feet  of 
strong,  broken  water.  The  bowman,  with  his  anchor- 
rope  ready,  the  sternman,  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
with  his  face  to  the  pool,  his  eye  on  every  cast  of  the 
fly.  Mr.  Lyndsay  stood  a little  back  from  the  center, 
a fine  figure,  Rose  thought,  tall,  strong,  ruddy,  with  a 
face  clean-shaven,  except  for  side- whiskers.  At  first 
he  cast  his  fly  near  to  the  canoe,  left  and  right  in  suc- 
cession, and  giving  the  rod  a slight  motion,  kept  the 
fly  moving  down-stream  until  directly  astern  of  the 
boat.  Then  with  a new  cast,  adding  two  or  more  feet 
of  line  from  the  reel,  he  again  let  the  swift  water  run 
it  out.  Thus,  casting  each  time  a little  farther,  he 
covered  by  degrees  an  increasing  triangular  area  of 
water,  of  which  the  stern  of  the  boat  was  the  apex. 
As  he  went  on  fishing,  he  chatted  with  Rose,  who  sat 
in  front  of  him,  so  that  he  cast  over  both  the  gii*l  and 
the  burly  figure  of  Tom. 

u I am  now  casting  about  forty-five  feet  of  line,”  he 
said.  “I  can  cast  about  sixty-five,  from  reel  to  fly. 
There  are  men  who  can  cast  one  hundred  feet  and 
more,  but  here  it  is  needless.  I could  not  do  it  if  it 
were  needed.” 

Rose  began  to  think  all  this  a little  slow,  for  a pas- 
time. At  last  Lyndsay,  saying,  “ Drop,  Tom,”  reeled 
up  his  line  within  a few  feet  from  the  long  silk  leader. 
As  he  gave  the  word,  the  lump  of  lead  used  as  an  an- 
chor was  lightly  lifted  and  held  well  in  hand,  the 
sternman  used  his  paddle,  and  the  boat  dropped 
some  forty  feet  farther  down  the  pool,  and  was  gently 
anchored.  The  stream  at  this  place  was  more  broken, 
and  was  what  Tom  called  “ strong  water.” 

-Q 


24 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


The  casting  business  began  again,  with  no  better 
result,  so  that  Rose,  to  whom  it  all  looked  easy  enough, 
began  to  find  it  more  pleasant  to  watch  the  shadows 
of  the  hills  and  the  heavy  clouds  moving  overhead. 
Mr.  Lyndsay  was  now  casting  some  fifty  feet  of  line, 
and,  as  Rose  turned,  trying  to  analyze  for  her  own 
use  the  succession  of  movements,  she  was  struck  with 
the  grace  and  ease  with  which  the  line  was  recovered 
at  the  end  of  the  cast, — sent  apparently  without 
effort  directly  behind  the  fisherman,  and  then  with- 
out crack  or  snap  impelled  in  a straight  line  to  right 
or  left  at  an  angle  from  the  boat,  so  that  the  casting- 
line and  fiy  dropped  or  settled  lightly  on  the  water ; 
the  fly  always  maintaining  its  place  at  the  end  of  the 
cast.  Then  she  heard,  “You  riz  him!”  “We  have 
tickled  his  fancy,  Rose,  or  tempted  his  curiosity. 
Now  we  have  a little  game  to  play.  Sometimes  we 
wait  a few  minutes.  I rarely  do  so  unless  the  fish  are 
scarce.  Look  sharp.  Did  you  see  him  rise  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ That  fish  lies  in  a line  writh  yonder  dead  pine.  In 
this  quick  water  the  fly  buries  itself,  but  as  I follow"  it 
with  the  rod,  you  can  guess  its  place.  Most  commonly 
a salmon  remains  in  one  spot,  with  his  nose  up-stream, 
and  — n 

“ Oh ! ” cried  Rose,  as  the  fly  reached  the  indicated 
spot  and  a swirl  in  the  water  and  a broad  back  caught 
her  eye.  “ Oh ! oh ! ” 

“ It  has  all  the  charm  of  gambling,”  said  Mr.  Lynd- 
say, “ without  the  badness.” 

“ Will  he  rise  again  ? ” 

“ Perhaps.  Ah,  not  this  time  ” ,•  and  after  a couple 
of  casts,  he  said,  “ Put  on  a black  dose.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


25 


“A  what?” 

“ Our  flies  have  all  manner  of  queer  names.  This 
is  a c dark  fly/  quite  unlike  the  bright  doctor.  It  may 
tempt  him.”  And  at  the  first  cast,  with  the  same 
length  of  line,  the  peaceful  scene  was  turned  into  one 
of  intense  excitement. 

“ There ! ” cried  Eose.  “ Oh  ! ” for  as  the  new  fly 
reached  the  fated  spot,  there  was  a sudden  flash  of 
white  a dozen  yards  away.  The  reel  ran  out  a few 
feet,  the  rod  was  lifted  and  turned  over  to  bring  the 
winch  to  the  right  hand,  and  the  pressure  on  the  en- 
tire length  of  the  bending  rod.  The  angler  sat  down. 

Tom  meanwhile  had  called  to  the  bowman  as  the 
fish  struck,  and  the  anchor  was  instantly  drawn  up. 
For  this  brief  interval  of  time  the  great  salmon 
stayed,  pausing.  “ Thinking  what ’s  wrong,”  said  Lynd- 
say.  The  next  instant  the  reel  sang,  and  some  two 
hundred  feet  of  line  ran  out  with  incredible  swiftness. 
Far  away  across  the  stream  a great  white  thing  leaped 
high  out  of  the  water,  as  Lyndsay  dropped  the  tip  of 
his  rod  to  relax  the  tension  of  the  line. 

“ How  exciting  it  is ! ” cried  Eose,  as  the  fish  leaped 
again.  “ I don’t  sympathize  with  the  salmon  at  all ; 
I am  intent  on  murdering  him.” 

“ Fresh  run  and  clean,”  said  Tom, — “ a beauty ! ” 
The  canoe,  urged  by  deft  paddles,  moved  across 
the  river.  The  tension  relaxing,  Lindsay  reeled  up 
line.  Then  again  there  was  a wild  rush  up  river. 

“ Tom,  quick  ! After  him  ! ” 

The  next  moment  the  line  came  back,  slack. 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Eose,  “ he  is  gone  ! ” 

“No!  no!”  shouted  Tom.  “Eeel!  reel,  sir!”  and 
presently  the  long,  loose  line  grew  tight,  for  the  sal- 


26 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


mon  had  turned  and  made  straight  for  the  boat.  Now, 
once  more,  he  broke  water,  thirty  feet  away. 

“Them  long  runs  tires  ’em/’  said  Tom,  “and  the 
jumps  tires  ’em  more.  Showed  his  belly,  sir.” 

Lyndsay  now  slowly  lifted  his  rod-tip,  throwing  it 
back  of  him,  and  then  lowering  it  as  he  recovered  the 
line. 

“ Take  care,  sir ! ” cried  Tom,  for  once  more  there 
was  a fierce,  short  dash  across,  and  again  a leap.  This 
time  the  fish  came  in  slowly,  but  surely,  and  Tom  took 
his  gaff. 

“ Can  you  do  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.”  The  gaff  was  in,  and  the  great,  flapping 
fish  in  the  boat,  and  Rose  pretty  well  splashed  with 
water  as  Tom  cleverly  lifted  his  prey  on  the  gaff -hook. 

“ A twenty-pounder,  Mr.  Lyndsay,  sure  ! ” 

“Well,  Rose,  how  do  you  like  it?” 

“ Oh,  papa,  it  is  splendid ! 

“ Where  are  we  going  ? ” she  added,  as  the  canoe 
was  run  ashore. 

“ The  men  will  put  the  fish  under  a bush,  to  be  out 
of  the  sun  ; and  now,  what  were  you  about  to  ask  ? I 
saw  a question  ready  in  your  eyes.” 

“ I wish,  papa  — I wish  I did  not  think  the  fish  had 
a dreadful  time.  I have  to  think  of  pleasure  holding 
the  rod  and  tragedy  at  the  end  of  the  line.” 

“Upon  my  word,  Rose,  you  are  emphatic.  I can 
assure  you,  my  dear,  that  you  may  safely  keep  your 
emotional  statements  for  another  occasion. 

“Let  me  tell  you  something.  Once  when  fishing 
on  the  Nipigon,  I saw  an  odd-looking,  very  large  trout. 
He  rose  every  time  I cast,  and  at  last  took  the  fly. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


27 


Now,  why  the  salmon  takes  the  fly,  not  Solomon  could 
say,  because  he  eats  nothing  while  in  the  rivers;  but 
trout  are  pigs  for  greediness.  When  I looked  this 
hungry  trout  over,  he  was  still  bleeding  from  a fish- 
hawk’s  claws,  and  his  intestines  and  liver  were  hang- 
ing in  the  water.  Such  pain,  or  injury  if  you  like,  as 
this,  does  in  man  utterly  destroy  appetite  and  cause 
inaction.  The  inference  is  plain  enough : fish  cannot 
be  said  to  suffer  what  we  call  pain.  I once  took  a 
striped  bass  which  had  been  terribly  torn  by  a gaff. 
On  the  whole,  Rose,  I conclude  that,  as  we  go  down 
the  scale  of  life,  there  is  less  and  less  of  what  we  call 
pain,  and  at  last,  probably,  only  something  nearer  to 
discomfort  or  inconvenience.” 

“Is  that  so ? Then  we  hold  our  higher  place  at  the 
cost  of  suffering,  which  must  increase  as  we  go  on 
rising  through  the  ages  to  come  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Lyndsay,  looking  aside  with  freshened 
curiosity  at  this  young  logician.  “ Yes,  the  rule  must 
work  both  ways.  But  man  alone  has  the  power  to 
limit,  lessen,  even  annihilate  pain.  The  amount  of 
pain  in  the  civilized  world  must  have  been  vastly 
diminished  within  forty  years,  since  we  got  ether  and 
the  like.” 

“ And  will  not  that  in  time  lessen  our  power  to  en- 
dure ? But  then,”  she  added  quickly,  “ that  might  be 
of  less  moment  if  we  are  always  increasingly  able  to 
diminish  or  stop  pain.” 

Lyndsay  smiled.  This  alert  grasp  of  a subject  was 
a novel  acquisition.  As  he  was  adjusting  a fly,  and 
the  boat  was  dropping  to  a new  station,  she  said  : 

“I  hate  pain.  I don’t  believe  in  its  usefulness. 


28 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GREEN 


Not  for  Rose  Lyndsay,  at  least.  It  only  makes  me 
cross.” 

“ Yet  you  would  hesitate  to  make  a world  without 
it?” 

“ Yes.  One  can  see  the  difficulties.” 

“ The  more  you  think  of  them  the  more  they  mul- 
tiply. It  is,  of  course,  commonplace  to  say  pain  is 
protective,  and  in  a sense  educative.  That  one  may 
admit  ; and  yet  there  will  still  he  such  a lot  of  torment 
which  is  natural  that  one  does  keep  on  wondering 
why.” 

“ Do  you  remember,  Pardy,”  — this  was  her  nur- 
sery name  for  her  father, — “when  Mr.  Caramel 
preached  about  the  uses  of  pain,  and  said  the  man 
who  suffered  was  ignorantly  rich : he  had  only  to 
learn  to  use  his  wealth  ? ” 

“ Oh,  very  well  I remember.  As  we  came  out  Anne 
said  she  would  be  glad  to  be  generous  with  her  over- 
competence, and  wanted  to  send  Mr.  Caramel  a few 
of  the  crumbs  to  relieve  his  too  comfortable  poverty ! ” 
“Yes,  only  one  can’t  repeat  her  bits  of  grim  fun, 
Pardy  5 and  when  she  tells  Dick  a green-apple  stomach- 
ache is  only  a joke  which  he  don’t  understand,  you 
must  see  her  face  and  Dick’s  grimace. — Oh,  see  how 
that  fish  jumped ! ” 

“ North  has  a curious  notion  that  pain,  except  for 
early  protective  education,  is,  in  a measure,  useless. 
He  declares  that  long  bouts  of  it  make  men  bad.” 
“Not  Aunt  Anne,  Pardy.” 

“ Oh,  a woman  ! That  is  different.” 

“Nor  that  splendid  fellow,  Dr.  Hall,  now — ” 
“Bother,  Rose!  Don’t  interrupt  me.  North  says 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


29 


he  has  seen  certain  hysterical  women  get  well  as  to 
everything  except  loss  of  sense  of  pain.  He  knows  of 
two  who  are  ignorant,  at  present,  of  the  feeling  of  pain. 
You  cannot  hurt  them.  One  of  them  declares  that 
she  would  on  no  account  resume  the  normal  state.” 
“ I cannot  imagine  any  one  wanting  to  "be  so  unna- 
tural, and  she  must  lose  all  warnings  as  to  burns  and 
knocks.” 

“No,  she  substitutes  intelligent  watchfulness  for 
the  sentinel  pain.” 

“ I shall  never  get  rid  of  pain  by  having  hysterics,” 
said  Rose,  confidently.  “ I can't  imagine  that.” 

“ Occasion  may  assist  imagination.  Take  care ! ” 

“ There  is  a scornful  masculine  note  in  that  remark, 
sir ! Why  do  not  men  have  hysterics  ? ” 

“Ask  North;  he  will  refer  you  to  Hamlet7 s condi- 
tion. Is  n't  it  in  Act  I,  Scene  IV,  where  he  gets  what 
Jack  calls  6 rattled'  about  the  ghost?  North  says  he 
was  hysterical.  Dr.  Shakspere  knew  his  business. 
But  I meant  to  add  that  North  says  there  is  one  case 
on  record  of  a man  who,  in  all  his  life,  never  knew 
what  pain  was, — had  no  pain ; could  not  be  hurt  in 
any  way ! ” 

“ How  strange ! ” 

“Yes,  but  we  are  losing  the  shining  hours.  The 
busiest  bee  could  not  improve  them  here.” 

“No,  indeed  ! ” 

“Oh,  one  word  more,  and  then  let  us  pitch  the 
horrid  thing  overboard.  I was  so  puzzled  once  — I 
still  am  — about  this  passage  in  my  Aurelius.” 

“ Real  or  fictitious,  Pardy  ? You  are  not  always 
above  following  Aunt  Anne's  wicked  ways ! ” 


30 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Oh,  real.  He  says, 1 There  is  no  dishonor  in  pain.’ 
I have  remarked  in  my  commentary  that  this  passage 
is  not  clear.” 

“ But  is  it  not,  papa  ? He  must  mean  that  dishonor 
is  the  worst  anguish,  and  that  pain  is  only  an  evil  to 
the  body,  and  that  an  ache  of  the  soul  is  worst  of  all, 
and  therefore  — ” 

“ Only  an  ill  to  our  grossest  part,  if  we  so  deter- 
mine to  limit  its  effects.  Is  that  it,  my  dear?” 

“ I suppose  so,”  said  Rose,  with  some  hesitation. 
“ Yes,  that  is  it.” 

“ But  now  you  shall  argue  with  a fish.  You  will  be 
awkward  at  first.  Here  is  a lighter  rod ; we  call  it  a 
grilse-rod.  Tom  shall  coach  you,  and  I will  grin  at 
your  failures ! ” 

“ I hate  failure ! ” 

“ And  I loathe  it.  But,  as  the  Persian  poet  says, 
‘Failure  is  the  child  of  doubt,  and  the  grandfather 
of  success.’” 

“ Pardy ! Pardy ! ” Rose  smiled.  Those  Oriental 
quotations  were  family  properties,  and  a source  of 
some  bewilderment  to  the  educated  stranger. 

“Now,  dear,  see  how  I hold  the  rod  — lightly. 
Yes,  so,  without  tension.  Don’t  make  too  much 
physical  effort.  Let  the  rod  do  its  share.  Don’t 
insist  on  doing  all,  and  too  much  yourself.” 

Rose  took  the  rod,  and  Tom  began  his  lesson.  But 
the  gods  were  good,  and,  after  a few  awkward  casts,  a 
salmon,  more  eager  than  his  kind,  made  a mad  bolt  for 
the  fly,  and  was  off  like  a crazy  thing,  across  the  stream. 

“ Turn  your  rod ! Down  ! Sit  down  ! Tip  up  ! 
Up ! That  is  rare,”  said  Lyndsay.  “ If  that  salmon 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


31 


were  to  keep  on  running,  there  would  be  no  salmon 
for  you.  Quick,  boys!”  for  before  the  anchor  was 
up,  the  wild  fish  had  run  off  two  thirds  of  the  reel. 
Now  they  were  away  after  him  at  fullest  speed. 

“ Reel ! reel ! ” cried  Tom.  “ Reel  up  ! ” 

“ But  I am  tired  ! Oh,  I shall  lose  him  ! ” 

However,  after  he  had  made  another  run,  Rose 
began  to  get  in  the  line,  then  the  fish  stopped  a 
moment,  and  again  was  away. 

Meanwhile,  the  canoe,  in  crossing  and  recrossing, 
had  come  close  to  the  swift  water  below  the  pool. 
“ We  have  got  to  go  down  the  rapids,  sir.” 

“ Let  her  go,  then.  Steady,  Rose,  keep  a strain  on 
him.” 

“ But  I am  nearly  dead ! ” 

“You  will  come  to.  Quick!  Drop  the  tip!”  for 
as  they  fled  down-stream,  the  boat  dancing,  the  water 
splashing  in,  the  poles,  now  pushing,  now  snubbing 
the  canoe,  the  salmon  made  a leap  high  in  air,  and 
fell  across  the  taut  line,  which  came  back  free,  while 
Rose  looked  around  in  disgusted  amazement. 

“ He  is  gone ! ” she  said. 

“Yes.  You  should  have  lowered  the  tip  when  he 
jumped.  But  think  how  pleased  he  is,  my  dear ! ” 
“ I hate  him ! ” 

“He  has  got  half  a leader  and  a good  silver  doc- 
tor,” said  her  father.  “You  can  quote  Browning, 
dear,  ‘ The  Last  Leader.’  ” 

“ For  shame  ! I knew  those  things  must  be  weak. 
I would  have  a good,  thick  rope.” 

“You  would  n’t  take  many  fish,  miss,”  said  Tom, 
grinning. 


32 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


u What  are  these  wretched  leaders  made  of  ? ” said 
Rose. 

“ Silk.  They  drown  the  silkworm  in  vinegar,  and 
then,  cutting  out  the  silk  sac,  take  the  two  ends,  and 
pull  them  apart.  The  silk,  for  a whole  cocoon,  is  in 
a state  of  thick  solution,  and  is  thus  pulled  out  into 
one  of  the  many  lengths  which  we  tie  to  make  a 
nine-foot  leader.” 

“ How  curious  ! ” 

Meanwhile,  another  leader  was  well  soaked  and 
adjusted,  and  Rose  began  anew.  But,  although  she 
cast  better,  no  more  salmon  rose,  and,  tired  out,  she 
gave  up  the  rod.  Mr.  Lyndsay  had  no  better  luck, 
and,  as  it  was  close  to  lunch -time,  they  ran  ashore  to 
pick  up  their  salmon,  which  Tom  laid  in  the  canoe 
and  covered  with  ferns.  Soon  again  the  little  vessel 
was  in  the  strong  current. 

“ There  is  no  hurry,  Tom,”  said  Lyndsay ; and  so 
the  canoe,  held  straight  by  a guiding  paddle,  glided 
swiftly  onward. 

“ It  is  perfect  motion,  Pardy, — at  most,  it  has  the 
ease  and  grace  of  flight.” 

“ It  makes  one  envy  the  fish.” 

“ Ah,  the  dear  things.  I am  so  glad  to  be  able  to 
think  it  really  does  not  hurt  them.” 

“ Hurt  ’em  ? ” said  Tom.  “ They  likes  it,  else  why  ’d 
they  want  it.  They  need  n?t  less  they  're  a mind  to.” 


CHAPTER  III 


j|S  they  floated  quietly  down  the  river, 
close  to  shore,  under  bireh  and  beech 
and  pine  and  silky  tamarack,  the 
delight  of  open  air,  the  pleasantness 
of  the  shifting  pictures,  the  delicate, 
changeful  odors,  even  the  charm 
of  the  motion,  were  keenly  felt  by  Rose.  She  was 
falling  under  the  subtle  magic  of  this  woodland  life, 
and  lazily  accepting  the  unobservant,  half -languid 
joy  it  brought.  At  last  she  said: 

“Papa,  does  it  take  you  long  to  — well,  to  get 
away  from  your  work,  so  that  you  can  fully  enjoy 
all  this?” 


“ Three  or  four  days ; not  more.  I like  at  once  the 
feeling  that  I have  nothing  I must  do.  After  awhile 
the  habit  of  using  the  mind  in  some  way  reasserts 
its  sway.  At  home  I watch  men.  It  is  part  of  my 
stock  in  the  business  of  the  law.  Here  I readjust  my 
mind,  and  it  is  nature  I have  learned  to  watch.  I 
was  not  a born  observer;  I have  made  myself  one. 
After  a day  or  two  on  the  water,  I begin  to  notice  the 
life  of  the  woods ; the  birds,  the  insects.  This  grows 
on  me  day  by  day,  and,  I think,  year  by  year.  It  is  a 
very  mild  form  of  mental  industry,  but  it  suffices  to 
fill  the  intervals  of  time  when  salmon  will  not  rise.” 

3 33 


34 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ It  is  so  pleasant  to  drift ! ” 

“ Yes ; that  is  the  charm  of  the  life.  Nobody  el- 
bows you  here;  no  rude  world  jostles  your  moods. 
You  may  entertain  the  gentle  melancholy  of  Pense- 
roso  or  the  entire  idleness  of  Adam  before  the  apple 
tempted  him.  You  may  be  gay  and  noisy, — no  one 
is  shocked;  and  then,  the  noble  freedom  of  a flannel 
shirt  and  knickerbockers ! Why  do  we  ever  go  back  ? ” 
“ There  is  a queer  indefiniteness  about  it  all  to  me,” 
said  Pose.  “I  cannot  get  into  any  full  — I mean 
interested  — relation  with  the  life  and  all  there  is  in 
it.  I don’t  say  just  what  I mean.” 

“ I see,  Rose : from  Rome  to  this  is  a long  way, — ‘ a 
far  cry/  we  say  in  Scotland.  Let  yourself  go.  Drift, 
as  you  said.” 

“ Ah,”  said  Rose, 

“ °T  is  pleasant  drifting,  drifting, 

Where  the  shores  are  shifting,  shifting, 

And  the  Dream  God  has  the  tiller, 

And  Fancy  plies  the  oar/ 

It  is  not  always  easy  to  drift,  and  I am  not  yet 
enough  at  ease  to  drift.  I find,  Pardy,  that  the 
changes  at  home  are  very  great.  I am  getting  slowly 
used  to  them.  The  boys  seem  new  creatures.  You 
are  just  the  same.  But  mama!  I am  so  sorry  for 
her.” 

“ That  will  come  right,  dear.  The  mother-wounds 
heal  slowly.  As  for  me,  I own  to  no  discontent  about 
my  boy’s  death.  Most  people  hold  foolish  notions  as 
to  death.  In  my  third  chapter  on  Marcus  Aurelius,  I 
have  given  a history  of  opinion  about  death.  It  has 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


35 


had  strange  variations.  Really,  we  are  very  stupid  as 
to  the  matter.  The  old  heathen  is  fine  about  it: 
‘ Thou  hast  embarked.  Thou  hast  made  the  voyage. 
Thou  art  come  to  shore ; leave  the  ship.  There  is  no 
want  of  Gods  even  there/  ” 

u Yes,  but — I did  not  embark,”  said  Rose.  “ I was 
put  on  as  freight.  I — ” 

“ How  horribly  exact  you  are  for  a summer  day ! I 
won't  argue  with  you ; you  love  it.  How  quiet  it  is ! 
Not  a leaf  stirs.  How  completely  peaceful!  The 
drowsiness  of  noon.” 

“ Yes,  it  is  like  ‘the  peace  that  is  past  understand- 
ing/ I never  think  of  that  phrase,”  she  added,  after 
a pause,  “without  a little  puzzle  of  mind  about  it. 
Aunt  Anne  says  it  is  so  altogether  nice  after  a mourn- 
ful length  of  sermon ; but  Aunt  Anne  is  terrible  at 
times.  I often  wonder  what  people  who  do  not  know 
her  well  must  think  of  her.  What  I mean  is  — W ell, 
it  is  hard  to  state,  Pardy.  Is  the  peace  so  great  that 
we  have  no  earthly  possibility  of  apprehending  its  re- 
lief from  the  unrest  of  this  life  ? — or  that  — Don't 
you  dislike  to  stumble  in  thinking?  I — it  does  not 
seem  to  me  as  if  I wanted  peace.  Is  that  dreadful  ? ” 

u No,  dear.  But  some  day  you  may,  and  there  are 
many  kinds.  I sometimes  crave  relief  from  mere  in- 
tellectual turmoil.  Another  yearns  after  the  day 
when  his  endless  battle  with  the  sensual  shall  cease. 
One  could  go  on.  Perhaps  for  you,  and  for  all,  the 
indefiniteness  of  the  promise  is  part  of  the  value  of  it? 
mystery.  That  is  widely  true.  You  may  one  day 
come  to  love  some  man,  and  to  entirely  believe  in  his 
promise  of  love.  Yet  you  will  not  fully  know  what 


36 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


that  means, — you  cannot  ; and  yet  you  trust  it,  for 
the  inner  life  after  all  rests  on  a system  of  credits, 
as  business  does.  Do  you  follow  me?” 

“ Yes,”  she  said,  with  a little  doubt.  “Yes,  I think 
I do;  aud  yet  it  is  not  peace  I want,  if  that  means 
just  merely  rest.” 

“ Oh,  no  ; surely  not  finality  of  action.  Remember 
that  with  that  promise  of  peace  is  to  come  increase  of 
knowledge  of  God,  which  means  all  knowledge.  We 
see  and  hear  now  the  beautiful  in  nature,  and  are 
troubled  by  its  apparent  discords.  There  the  true 
harmonies  of  it  all  shall  be  ours  to  know.  It  is  like 
learning  the  reasons  for  the  music  we  hear  now  with 
only  joy  and  wonder.” 

“That  may  be  so.  To  like  or  love  a person,  a 
friend,  is  pleasant ; but  to  love  and  also  fully  to  un- 
derstand a friend  is  better.  Then  one  is  at  ease,  one 
has  true  peace,  because  we  have  then  knowledge  with 
love.” 

“ That  was  nicely  put,  my  child,  but  one  can’t  talk 
out  in  full  such  subjects  as  this.  One  can  only  sow 
seed  and  trust  to  the  fertilization  of  time.  Where 
did  you  get  your  quotation  about  drifting  ? ” 

“I  do  not  know;  Aunt  Anne  would.” 

“ Oh,  that,  of  course,”  said  Lyndsay ; “ she  told  us 
once  that  not  to  know  the  name  of  the  man  you  quote 
is  a form  of  ingratitude : to  take  the  gift  and  forget 
the  giver.” 

“ That  is  so  like  her : to  label  want  of  memory  as 
intellectual  ingratitude.” 

“ When  we  laughed,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ she  added  that 
quotations  were  mean  admissions  of  our  own  incapa- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


37 


city  of  statement.  Claiborne  was  dining  with  ns, — 
yon  should  have  heard  his  comments.  Yon  know 
how  perplexingly  droll  she  is  at  times,  and  when  she 
is  in  what  the  boys  call  a 6 gale 7 of  merry  mind-play.77 

u It  sounds  familiar.  Aunt  Anne  is  not  above  re- 
peating her  jests.  I recall  it  now.  She  insisted  gaily 
that  it  is  bad  manners  to  call  up  the  spirit  of  a man, 
and  accept  his  contribution  to  your  needs,  and  then 
to  say,  1 Sorry  I forgot  your  name,7  and  just  show 
him  to  the  door  of  your  mind.  She  is  great  fun, 
sometimes.77 

“ Yes,  sometimes.  The  fun  is  not  always  honeyed, 
or  if  it  looks  so  — of  a sudden  the  bees  crawl  out 
of  it  and  sting  folks;  but  who  can  wonder?  If  it 
helps  Anne  to  clap  an  occasional  mustard-plaster  on 
me,  dear  lady,  she  is  welcome.77 

“ Once,  Pardy,  in  Venice,  she  was  in  dreadful  pain, 
and  some  women  got  in  by  mistake.  She  was  per- 
fectly delightful  to  those  people.  When  they  went 
away,  I said,  ‘ Aunty,  how  much  better  you  are  ! 7 And 
what  do  you  think  she  replied  ? 4 You  will  never 

know,  dear,  whether  you  have  good  manners  or  not 
until  you  have  pain  for  one  of  your  visitors,7  and  then 
she  fainted.  I never  knew  her  to  faint,  and  I was 
dreadfully  scared.77 

“ She  ought  to  have  excused  herself,77  said  Lyndsay. 
u It  was  heroic  foolishness.77 

u I suppose  it  was.77 

“ You  need  not  suppose, — it  was ! I hate  to  think 
of  how  she  suffers.  Look  at  yonder  lot  of  firs  and 
spruce  with  the  gray,  green,  drooping  mosses  on  them. 
After  a rain  that  hillside  looks  like  a great  cascade. 

3* 


38 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


You  see  the  moss  hangs  in  arrow-head  shapes,  like 
those  of  falling  water.  It  is  so  hard  to  set  these 
simple  things  in  words  — you  can  describe  them  with 
half  a dozen  pencil-marks.  I envy  you  the  power. 
I have  to  stick  to  my  old  habit  of  word-sketches,  about 
which  our  friend,  the  doctor,  once  wrote,  as  you  know. 
On  Sunday  we  will  have  a run  up-stream,  and  a big 
wood-and-water  chat." 

As  he  spoke  the  canoe  slipped  around  a little  head- 
land, and  was  at  once  close  to  the  cliff  camp. 

“ That  does  n't  look  very  peaceful,"  cried  Rose. 
“Oh,  they  will  be  killed!"  and  she  started  up. 

“ Keep  still,"  said  her  father ; “ you  will  upset  us." 
What  she  saw  looked  grim  enough : a tangle  of  three 
boys,  rolling  down  some  fifteen  feet  of  graveled 
slope;  then  the  three  afoot;  two  or  three  savage 
blows,  fierce  cries,  and  a sudden  pause,  as  Lyndsay 
called  out : 

“ Hullo  there ! — quit  that,  Jack ! Stop,  Ned ! " 

Their  faces  were  very  red,  their  clothes  covered 
with  dirt.  There  was  silence  and  instant  obedience. 
Mrs.  Lyndsay  stood  imploring  at  the  top  of  the  cliff, 
and  Anne  was  standing  by  with  a queer  smile  on  her 
face,  and  her  fingers  in  a book. 

“ Who  began  it,  boys ? What  is  it  all  about? " 

Jack  spoke  first : “ Dick  hit  Ned,  and  he  's  too  small 
for  him,  and  so  I hit  Dick." 

“He  might  have  let  us  alone.  I 'm  as  good  as 
Dick  any  time,"  said  the  slightest  of  the  lads,  with 
no  show  of  gratitude. 

“He  said  I was  a fool,"  explained  Dick.  “Ned 's 
quite  a match,  but  Jack  can't  keep  out  of  a row." 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


39 


“ And  so  it  was  two  to  one,  was  it  ? I can’t  stand 
that:  no  more  fishing  to-day  or  to-morrow,  Master 
Jack.” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ And  now,  what  was  this  war  about  ? ” 

“Well,  Ned  he  said  Claverhouse  was  a bloody  vil- 
lain, and  I said  he  was  a gallant  gentleman,  and  Ned 
said  I was  a fool.” 

“ That  was  a difference  of  sentiment  which  has  cost 
blood  before,”  laughed  Anne,  from  the  bluff.  Ned 
grinned  as  he  wiped  a bloody  nose. 

“ Oi,  do  keep  quiet,  Anne,”  said  her  brother ; “ this 
is  my  affair.  How  is  it,  Ned,  and  you,  Dick?  Is  it 
settled?  If  not,  there  is  room  back  of  the  house. 
This  fighting  before  women  is  not  to  my  taste.  But 
is  all  this  just  as  Dick  says,  Ned  ? ” 

“Why,  father,  I — I said  it.”  And  Dick’s  face 
flushed. 

“You  are  right,  sir;  I beg  pardon.  As  you  seem 
indisposed  to  have  it  out,  shake  hands ; but  an  honest 
shake.  It  must  be  peace  or  war ; no  sullenness.” 
“All  right,  sir.  I ’m  sorry,  Dick.” 

“I ’m  not — very,”  said  Dick;  but  he  put  his  hand 
on  Ned’s  shoulder,  and  kindly  offered  a second  hand- 
kerchief. 

“Now,  you  mad  Indians,  go  and  make  yourselves 
decent.  It  is  time  for  luncheon.” 

Rose  went  up  the  cliff  to  where  Miss  Anne  still 
stood.  “I  think  it  is  dreadful,  most  dreadful.” 

“ I used  to,  my  dear,  but  on  the  whole  it  clears  the 
air,  and  the  boys  seem  none  the  worse  for  it.  Jack 
is  usually  the  ferment;  Dick  is  hot  of  temper;  and 


40 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


Ned,  my  dear  Ned,  would  die  on  the  rack  for  a 
sentiment.” 

When  the  family  sat  down  to  the  luncheon,  a 
stranger  would  have  detected  no  evidence  of  the  re- 
cent warfare.  The  mother,  once  or  twice,  cast  an 
anxious  look  at  the  slight  enlargement  of  Ned’s 
nose,  hut,  to  the  surprise  of  Rose,  what  had  seemed 
to  her  an  angry  contest  made  no  kind  of  alteration 
in  the  good  humor  of  the  lads.  Ned  was  as  usual 
silent;  but  Dick  and  Jack  were  busily  discussing  the 
color  of  the  trout  they  had  taken : some  were  dark, 
some  brighter  in  tint. 

It  was  the  good  habit  of  this  old-fashioned  house- 
hold to  invite  the  talk  and  questions  of  the  children. 

“ You  got  the  blacker  ones  at  Grime’s  run,  near  the 
mouth,”  said  Mr.  Lyndsay;  “the  others  in  the  river 
below.  Well,  what  do  you  make  of  it?” 

“Is  n’t  the  bottom  dark  in  the  places  where  the  fish 
are  dark  ? ” said  Dick. 

“ Put  it  backward,”  replied  his  father,  “ and  you 
will  have  a part  of  the  truth.” 

“ But  how  could  that  act  ? ” said  Dick. 

“It  must  act  somehow,”  said  Jack. 

“ Is  it  the  light  ? ” said  Ned. 

“ But  light  blackens  the  skin,  or  heat  does,”  rea- 
soned Dick. 

“ The  true  cause  is  curious.  It  is  an  action  of  light 
through  the  eyes,  and  thence,  by  the  brain  pathways, 
on  to  the  numberless  little  pigment-cells  of  the  skin, 
which  are  able  to  shrink  or  enlarge,  and  thus  change 
the  hue  of  the  whole  outside  of  the  fish.  Blind  fish 
do  not  change  their  hue.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


41 


“ But  that  is  not  the  way  we  get  brown,”  said  Bose. 

“ No,  not  at  all.  Sun-tan  is  not  caused  by  the  sun’s 
heat ; it  is  an  effect  of  the  chemical  rays.” 

“ A kind  of  photography,  Pardy  ? ” 

“ Yes,  more  complete  than  you  can  fancy ; the  sun- 
light falls  nowhere  without  leaving  a record,  only  we 
cannot  recover  it  as  we  can  the  photograph  of  the 
camera.  In  fact,  it  is  probable  that  every  reflection 
from  everything  and  onto  everything  leaves  positive 
records.  It  was  Professor  Draper,  I think,  who 
played  with  this  pretty  idea,  that,  if  we  had  the 
means  of  development,  we  might  thus  win  back  pic- 
tures of  every  event  since  the  world  was  made.” 

“ I like  that,”  said  Anne.  “ What  would  one  desire 
to  see  if  we  could  recover  these  lost  memorials  ? ” 

There  was  a little  pause  at  this. 

“ Come,  Ned.” 

“ Oh,  I ’d  want  to  see  old  Cromwell  when  he  was 
looking  at  Charles,  just  lying  there  dead.” 

“ But  he  never  did  see  him  then,”  said  Jack.  “ You 
would  n’t  have  wanted  to,  Ned,  if  you  had  been  that 
scoundrel.” 

“ Yes,  I should,”  cried  Ned ; “I*d  have  known  then 
if  I was  right.” 

Anne  looked  at  him  aside,  with  brief  curiosity. 
He  often  puzzled  her. 

“ Cromwell  a scoundrel ! ” he  murmured  to  himself. 

“ And  you,  Jack  ? ” 

“Oh,  the  cemetery  hill  at  Gettysburg,  just  when 
the  rebel  line  broke;  but” — and  his  face  flushed  — 
“just  to  have  been  there.  That  would  have  been 
better.” 


42 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“And  what  would  you  like  to  see,  Anne?”  said 
Lyndsay. 

“ Oh,  a hundred  things ! ” and  her  eyes  lit  up.  At 
last  she  said,  “ Yes , I think  if  it  were  only  one  thing, 
I would  say,  St.  Paul  on  Mars’  Hill.” 

“ I think  I shall  rest  content  with  Anne’s  choice,” 
said  Mrs.  Lyndsay.  “But,  ah  me,  there  might  be 
many,  many  things.” 

“ Dick,  it  is  your  turn,”  said  Lyndsay. 

“I— I — don’t  know.  Yes,  yes.  The  days  of  the 
great  lizards — and  things,”  he  added,  comprehen- 
sively ; “ and  that  beast  with  a brain  in  his  head  and 
one  in  his  tail.  And,  father,  may  I see  the  insides  of 
that  salmon  ? He  has  a lot  of  what  the  men  call  sea- 
lice  on  him.” 

“Certainly.  He  loses  them  very  soon  in  fresh 
water.  It  is  a sign  of  a clean  run  fish.  Yes,  of 
course.  Do  as  you  like,  my  boy.” 

“ Mrs.  Maybrook  was  here  this  morning,”  said  Mrs. 
Lyndsay.  “I  was  away.  You  and  Anne  must  see 
her,  Rose.  She  is  really  a personage.  I,  at  least, 
have  never  seen  any  one  like  her.  She  left  word  that 
the  little  boy  was  sick  at  Joe  Colkett’s, — the  upper 
clearing,  you  know,  Archie ; and  could  we  do  some- 
thing to  help  them  ? There  is  no  doctor  for  fifty 
miles.  I thought,  Rose,  you  might  take  some  things, 
and  go  over  after  lunch,  and  see  what  it  is.” 

Now,  Rose  was  salmon-bitten,  but  it  was  character- 
istic that  she  said  at  once  she  would  go.  A glance  at 
the  mother’s  face  decided  her.  Anne,  who  understood 
everybody  with  strange  readiness,  nodded  to  her 
gently,  and  Rose  had  her  reward.  It  is  pleasant  to 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


43 


be  clearly  read  by  those  we  love.  Then  the  chat  went 
on,  gay  or  grave,  but  plenty  of  it,  and  with  ample 
sauce  of  folly. 

As  the  girl  went  out  onto  the  porch,  Lyndsay  said 
to  his  sister,  “ I was  sorry  for  Rose.  Her  first  day  of 
salmon-fishing.  Sometimes  my  good  Margaret  is  — 
well,  a little  too  positive  about  these  confounded 
duties.  She  might  — ” 

“No,  Archie.  Rose  understood  her  mother.  Of 
course,  she  did  not  like  it,  but  she  was  right,  and  was 
perfectly  sweet  about  it.” 

“ I shall  take  her  up  myself,  and  wait  for  her,”  he 
went  on.  “ If  we  start  early,  she  will  be  in  time  for 
a late  cast.  Hang  the  black  flies ! — get  a smudge, 
Tom,”  he  called.  “ I suppose  Margaret  is  right.  Even 
the  simulation  of  goodness  is  valuable.  Of  course, 
Anne,  as  Marcus  Aurelius  said,  ‘Affect  a virtue* — ’ 
No,  confound  it!  he  says,  ‘If  you  have  not  a vir- 
tue, make  believe  to  have  it,  and  by  and  by  you  will 
have  it.” 

Anne  smiled.  “ I think  there  is  a statute  of  limita- 
tions for  some  of  us.” 

“ Come  into  my  room,”  he  added.  “ I want  to  read 
you  my  last  chapter.  It  is  on  the  value  of  habits. 
You  can  sew  if  you  like.” 

“ Archie ! You  never  saw  me  sew  in  your  life.  It 
is  Margaret’s  resource,  not  mine.  I never  could  com- 
prehend its  interest  for  women.  M.  A.  was  a bit 
of  a prig  in  my  opinion  j but,  as  to  the  commen- 
tary, look  out, — previous  experience  should  have 
warned  you, — there  will  be  two  commentaries,”  and 
she  went  in  after  him,  laughing. 


44 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


As  he  passed  Rose,  he  said,  “ By  the  way,  and  to 
put  your  conscience  at  ease  before  you  fish  again, 
here  is  a note-book  of  mine  in  which  you  may  see  that 
while  hunting  is  forbidden  to  the  clergy,  fishing  is 
allowed.  The  reasons  are  amusing.  Ned  or  Dick 
will  help  you,  but  the  Latin  is  easy.” 

“ Walton  quotes  it,”  added  Lyndsay. 

“ No,  only  in  part,”  said  Anne. 

“ You  are  intolerable.  Your  literary  conscience  is 
like  Margaret’s  moral  exactness.  There  is  no  living 
with  either  of  you.” 

“ Don’t  believe  him,  Rose  5 but  keep  for  me  the 
quotation.” 

She  devoured  books,  and  digested  them  also,  with 
the  aid  of  a rather  too  habitual  acidity  of  criticism ; 
but  what  was  in  them  she  never  forgot. 

u Come,  now,  Archie.” 

Rose  took  the  note-book  and  sat  down.  This  was 
what  she  read,  from  the  Decretals  of  Lyons,  1671: 
“ Sed  quare  prohibetur  venari,  et  non  piscari  ? Quia 
forte  piscatio  sine  clamore,  venatio  non ; vel  quia  ma- 
jor est  delectatio  in  venatione;  dum  enim  quis  et  in 
venatione  nihil  potest  de  divinis  cogitare.” 1 

“ Ambrose  speaks  of  it  in  like  manner  in  his  third 
homily, — the  old  humbug ! ” said  Miss  Rose,  over 
whose  shoulder  Dick  had  been  looking. 

“ I guess  they  took  a sly  shot,  now  and  then,  at  the 
king’s  deer,  Rosy  Posy.” 

l Until  within  two  years,  it  was  lawful  to  fish  on  Sunday  in 
New  York,  but  unlawful  to  shoot. 


CHAPTER  IV 


BOUT  three  o’clock,  as  Rose  stood  by 
the  canoe  in  a pretty  hot  sun,  she 
saw  Ned  and  Dick  making  ready  for 
another  trip  to  the  brook. 

“Pardy,”  she  said,  “do  let  Jack 
go  with  them.” 

half  the  fun  without  Jack,”  urged 
Ned.  Lyndsay  hesitated.  “Well,  yes,  Rose.” 

She  was  away  up  the  steps  in  a moment,  and  found 
Jack  deep  in  an  Arctic  voyage. 

“ You  are  to  go,  Jack,”  she  cried. 

“ I don’t  want  to.” 

“ That ’s  a first-class  fib.” 

“Well,  I don’t  want  to  go.” 

“ Come,  Jack ; you  hurt  me ; and  I asked  — ” 

“ By  George  ! ” he  cried,  “ I ’ll  go.” 

“You  must  want  to  go.” 

“ I do.” 

“ Go  and  thank  Pardy.” 

Jack  stood  a moment,  and  then  Rose  kissed  him. 

“ Drat  you  women ! ” said  the  youngster,  and 
walked  away  and  down  to  the  canoes.  He  went 
straight  to  his  father. 

“ I am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir.” 

“ All  right,  old  man.  Off  with  you.” 

45 


46 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


u By  George,  Dick,  but  M.  A.  is  a gentleman,”  said 
Jack,  as  the  canoe  left  the  beach.  “He  might  have 
rubbed  it  in,  and  he  just  did  n’t.” 

“ How ’s  your  nose,  you  small  poet  cuss?”  said  Dick. 
“ I cut  my  knuckles  on  those  sharp  teeth  of  yours.” 

“ That ’s  what  they  ’re  for,  Ruby  ” ; and  so  they 
were  away,  singing  as  they  went : 

“The  king  shall  enjoy  his  own  again,” — 

to  the  amusement  of  the  two  Indians. 

“ I should  have  sent  the  Gaspe  men,”  said  Lyndsay 
to  Rose,  as  he  stood  following  the  canoe  with  his 
eyes.  “ If  anything  happens,  they  would  think  first 
of  the  boys,  and  next  of  themselves.  In  Mr.  Lo  I 
have  less  faith.” 

“ But  why?” 

“Experience,  prejudice,  color  — distrust.  Once  I 
was  on  Lake  Superior,  Rose,  in  a boat  in  a storm. 
Our  two  Indian  guides  simply  lay  down  and  wilted. 
We  could  get  no  help  from  either.  And  a curious 
thing  happened  that  night.  We  landed  on  a beach  at 
the  river  of  the  Evil  Manitou.  When  the  Indians 
learned  that  I meant  to  camp  there,  they  tried  to  steal 
a canoe  and  run  away,  explaining  that  to  sleep  there 
would  cause  the  death  of  some  one  of  their  people.  I 
could  not  stand  this,  because  we  needed  the  third 
canoe.  It  ended  by  our  keeping  watch,  revolver  in 
hand,  all  night.  When  we  reached  Duluth,  an  old 
Indian — a Chippeway,  of  course — was  waiting  to  tell 
one  of  my  guides  that  his  sister  had  died  that  morning.” 
“ What  did  he  say  to  you,  papa  ? ” 

“ Only,  ‘ Me  telly  you  so.’  ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


47 


“And  did  n’t  you  feel  very,  very  badly?  You 
know,  dear  M.  A.,  you  are  quite  a bit  superstitious 
yourself.” 

“As  to  the  first  question,  No.  I was  sorry,  but  — 
Get  into  the  canoe — so  — facing  the  bow.  I sha’n’t 
see  your  face  when  you  talk,  and  I can  fib  without 
those  nice  eyes  of  yours  making  righteous  comments.” 
“A  tete-a-tete  back  to  back  might  have  its  advan- 
tages,”^she  returned,  laughing,  “ for  a cceur-d-cceur  at 
least,  papa.” 

“ I trust  that  is  in  the  dim  distance,  my  child.” 

“ How  serious  you  are,  Pardy!” 

He  was  troubled  at  times  lest  this  best  of  his  dear 
comrades  should  find  another  man  whom  she  would 
love  more  than  she  loved  the  father-friend. 

“And,”  she  went  on,  “ would  you  have  shot  the  In- 
dian if  he  had  taken  or  tried  to  take  the  boat,  Pardy  ? ” 
“ Oh,  no ! The  revolver  was  not  loaded.  Our  An- 
glo-Saxon fists  would  have  answered,  as  we  were  four 
to  two.” 

“ But  are  n’t  these  Indians  Catholics  ? ” 

“If  you  mean  that  religion  puts  an  end  to  these 
little  or  large  superstitions,  No.  Kismet,  the  Fates, 
our  Angle  ancestors’  Wyrda — the  goddess  who  de- 
creed deaths  in  battle  and  spared  the  brave  awhile  — 
she  became  God  for  the  Christian  Angles : then  the 
will  of  God,  and  now  the  law  of  God,  and  for  some 
the  laws  of  nature.  It  is  only  a transmutation  of 
phrase.  We  remain  fatalists,  and  change  the  label.” 
“ But  it  seems  to  me,”  said  Rose,  “ a long  way  from 
Wyrda,  who  was  rather  indecisive,  I remember,  to 
changeless  law.” 


48 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Rose,  yon  are  dreadful ! If  ever  I begin  to  talk 
loosely,  down  comes  Anne  or  you  with  your  con- 
founded rigidity  of  statement.  Don’t  marry  a fool, 
Rose,  or  he  and  you  will  have  a dreadful  time.” 
“No,  papa,  never!  Heaven  forbid!  But  is  n’t  it 
helpful  at  least  to  know — ” 

“You  can’t  drag  me  any  further  into  these  deep 
waters  to-day. 

‘ To-day  we  give  to  trifles, 

And  if  to-morrow  rifles 
The  honey  thefts  we  won, 

At  least  the  pleasant  hours 
Head  down  among  the  flowers, 

Swinging  jolly  in  the  sun — 1 

nobody  can  quite  take  away.  I forget  the  rest  of  it.” 
“I  am  happy  enough,  dear  Marcus  Aurelius,  to 
dare  to  be  grave.  I have  a pocketful  of  moods  at 
your  order. 

4 Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry, 

Dance,  sing,  and  rejoice, 

With  claret  and  sherry, 

Theorbo  and  voice/ 

For  we  all  shall  be  past  it  a hundred  years  hence.” 

“I  don’t  know  that,  Rose.  I like  to  think,  with 
Anne,  that  in  a world  to  come 

‘The  angel  Laughter  spreads  her  broadest  wings/ 

We  may  laugh  at  other  things,  but  laugh  we  shall.” 

“ Dear  Aunt  Anne  ! The  angel  of  laughter ! I 
think  I can  hear  him/’ 

“Just  to  go  back  a moment,  Rose.  You  can’t  talk 
out  these  deeper  things.  I,  at  least,  must  use  the  pen 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


49 


if  I am  at  all  able  to  discuss  them.  There  never  was 
truth  in  text  or  brief  sayings  that  for  me  could  stand 
alone.  Even  a proverb  needs  limbs  of  comment  to 
get  about  usefully  among  mankind.  Books  of  mere 
maxims  I detest.  Don't ! I see  you  mean  to  reply. 
Grood-by  to  common  sense  to-day." 

“Aunt  Anne  was  talking  last  night,"  said  Rose, 
u about  the  value  of  nonsense.  I think  it  was  apropos 
of  just  the  very  worst  conundrum  you  ever  heard, — 
you  know  what  a lot  of  them  the  boys  have.  This 
one  I have  made  a solemn  vow  never  to  repeat.  She 
was  wondering  why  the  novelists  never  make  people 
talk  refreshing  nonsense  the  way  all  really  reasonable 
folks  do  sometimes." 

“I  wonder  more,  Rose,  why  they  so  rarely  get 
really  good  talk  into  their  conversations,  talk  such 
as  we  do  hear,  gay  and  grave  by  turns.  Of  course 
they  say  of  their  characters  things  clever  enough." 

“ That  is  terribly  true, — one  tires  of  the  endless 
essays  about  their  people.  Why  not  let  them  say  of 
one  another  what  is  to  be  said.  Aunt  Anne  says  she 
hates  to  have  a critical  providence  forever  hovering 
about  a story." 

“A  good  deal  of  the  personal  talk  in  novels  is 
needed  to  carry  on  the  tale.  Still,  there  ought  to  be 
room  for  doing  this  in  a way  to  make  the  talk  in 
itself  amusing  at  times,  and  not  merely  coldly  de- 
velopmental of  character." 

“ Wait  till  I write  my  novel,"  cried  Rose.  “Every 
one  in  it  shall  be  clever, — English  clever.  It  hurts 
my  sense  of  the  reality  of  the  people  in  books  to  be 
told  they  are  able,  or  this  and  that,  and  have  sense 

' 4 


50 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


of  humor,  and  then  not  to  find  these  qualities  in 
what  they  say.” 

“You  may  have  too  much  of  it,”  he  returned. 
“ The  mass  of  readers  are  unaccustomed  to  a selected 
world  where  to  want  to  amuse  and  interest,  and  to 
be  amused,  is  part,  at  least,  of  the  social  education. 
Your  book  would  lack  readers,  just  as  George  Mere- 
dith’s books  do,  where,  surely,  the  people  talk  enough, 
both  of  brilliant  wisdom  and  as  shining  wit.” 

“ But  they  keep  me  in  a state  of  mental  tension ; I 
don’t  like  that.” 

“ No.  I said  there  could  be  too  much  in  a book,  in 
a novel.  These  books  keep  one  on  a strain.  That 
may  suit  some  people,  some  moods,  but  it  is  n’t  what 
I read  novels  for.  Now,  Cranford  is  my  ideal.” 

“ I knew  you  would  say  Cranford,  papa.  But  is  n’t 
it  a little  too  — too  photographic?  I met  in  the 
Tyrol,  papa,  a lady  who  knew  many  of  the  people  in 
Cranford.  Did  you  know  it  was  called  Knutsford  ? ” 
“ Ah,  Canute’s  ford.” 

“Yes.  She  told  me  such  an  odd  thing  about 
Knutsford.  When  a bride  is  on  her  way  to  the 
church  the  bridesmaids  scatter  sand  before  her,  and 
this  is  because  when  Canute  crossed  the  ford  he  was 
seated  on  the  bank,  and  getting  the  sand  out  of  his 
shoe, — and  just  then  a bride  came  over  the  stepping- 
stones;  the  king  cast  the  sand  after  her,  and  said, 
‘ May  your  offspring  be  as  many  as  the  sands  in  my 
shoe.’  Now,  is  n’t  that  a pretty  story?” 

“ A very  pretty  story.  I shall  write  it  on  the  blank 
page  of  my  Cranford.” 

“ Hullo,  Tom ; are  those  bear-tracks  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


51 


They  were  close  now  to  a sandy  beach. 

“ Yes,  and  fresh,  too.” 

“If  Jack  saw  this  he  would  go  wild,”  said  Rose. 
“And  the  little  marks?” 

“ Them  ’s  cubs.  They  ’ve  been  roun’  here  a sight.” 

As  they  went  on,  the  hills  became  higher  and  more 
steep.  ^A.t  their  bases  lay  the  wreckage  of  countless 
years,  the  work  of  ice  and  heat  and  storms  piled  high 
along  the  shores.  It  was  covered  with  dense  green- 
ery of  beech  and  birch  and  poplar.  Out  of  this,  in 
darker  masses,  broad  columns  of  tamarack,  pine,  and 
spruce  seemed  to  be  climbing  the  long  upper  slopes 
of  the  hills  which,  still  higher,  lifted  gray  granite 
summits,  free  of  growths. 

“ How  fast  do  we  go  ? ” said  Rose. 

“It  is  good  poling  on  this  stream  to  make  three 
miles  an  hour.  On  the  St.  Anne  there  is  one  ten-mile 
stretch  which  takes  all  day.  Watch  the  movement 
of  using  the  poles.  See  how  graceful  it  is, — the 
strong  push,  the  change  of  hands,  the  recovery. 
Ah! — ” Suddenly  the  bowman  let  go  his  pole, 
which  Tom  seized  as  it  came  to  the  stern. 

“ Now,  that  ’s  a good  thing  to  see,  Rose.  He  caught 
it  in  the  rocks,  and  let  it  go.  If  he  held  it,  it  would 
break,  or  he  go  over,  and  possibly  upset  us, — no  trifle 
in  these  wild  waters.  It  requires  instant  decision.” 

“ I see.  Are  n’t  these  the  clearings  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

And  now,  on  the  farther  side,  the  hills  fell  away, 
and  the  stream  grew  broad  and  less  swift.  A wide 
alluvial  space,  dotted  with  elms,  lay  to  the  left,  with 
here  and  there  the  half-hidden  smoke  of  a log-house. 


52  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Beyond  this  is  a hopeless  wilderness,  my  dear; 
and  to-morrow,  Sunday,  we  shall  go  up  and  look  at  it. 
And  you  shall  draw  a little,  if  you  are  wicked  enough, 
and  I will  make  some  word  sketches.”  They  were 
now  poling  along  close  to  the  farther  shore. 

“ Who  is  that  fishing  across  the  river  ? ” 

“ It  must  be  the  island  camp  men.” 

Rose  set  her  opera-glass  and  looked.  In  a moment 
she  put  it  down,  conscious  that  the  man  in  the  boat 
was  doing  as  to  her  precisely  the  thing  she  had  done. 
She  had  a queer  feeling  that  she  did  not  like  it;  why, 
she  would  have  been  puzzled  to  say. 

“Who  are  they?  Oh,  yes,  I remember;  you  spoke 
of  them  before.” 

“One  is  Mr.  Oliver  Ellett.  I think  he  must  be 
Oliver  Ellett’s  son.  We  were  at  Harvard.  The  other 
is  a Mr.  Carington.” 

“He  7s  an  old  hand  up  here.  Fished  h,ere  a heap 
these  years.  Casts  an  awful  nice  line.  Seed  him  yes- 
terday. Shot  a seal  last  week,  they  was  a-tellin7  me.” 
“ I should  hate  a man  that  could  shoot  a seal,”  said 
Rose.  “ They  look  so  human,  and,  then,  they  can  be 
taught  to  talk.  He  can’t  be  a nice  man.” 

“Them  seals  spiles  the  fishing  Miss  Rose.  They 
ain’t  got  no  business  to  spile  the  fishin’.  As  for  them 
seals  a-talkin’,  that  ’s  a pretty  large  story,  miss; 
whatever,  I don’t  go  to  doubt  you  heerd  ’em.” 
“But  it  is  true.” 

“ I 7d  like  to  converse  with  one,”  said  Tom,  in  his 
most  liberal  voice.  “He  ’d  git  my  opinion.” 

And  now  the  canoe  was  ashore,  and  Rose  and  her 
father  set  out  through  the  woods,  and  by  and  by 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


53 


came  upon  a rude  clearing  and  a rough-looking  log- 
cabin,  surrounded  with  fire-scarred  and  decaying 
stumps.  The  huge  wood-pile,  as  high  as  the  eaves, 
struck  Rose. 

“How  that  makes  one  think  of  the  terrible  cold 
and  the^loneliness  of  winter  here, — no  books,  no  com- 
pany • what  can  they  do  ? ” 

44  It  recalls  to  me,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ the  curious  use  of 
the  word  4 stove ’ in  Labrador,  where,  even  more  than 
here,  it  is  important.  You  ask  how  many  people  there 
are,  say,  at  Mingan  ? The  reply  is  sure  to  be,  4 Oh, 
there  are  twenty-seven  stoves.’  But  how  many  people  ? 
4 1 don’t  know ; there  are  twenty-seven  stoves.’  ” 

At  the  open  door  Lyndsay  knocked,  and  in  a 
moment  came  through  the  gloom  within  a tall,  sallow 
woman.  A soiled  and  much-mended  brown  gingham 
gown  hung  down  from  broad  but  lean  shoulders  over 
hips  as  lean  and  large.  As  she  came  to  the  door,  she 
hastily  buttoned  her  dress  awry  across  the  fleshless 
meagerness  of  her  figure. 

44  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Colkett  ? ” said  Lyndsay. 

44  Now,  ain’t  it  Mr.  Lyndsay?  I ’m  that  wore  out  I 
did  n’t  know  you.  Set  down”;  and  she  wiped  a chair 
and  a rickety  stool  with  the  skirt  of  her  gown.  44 1 
did  n’t  know  you,  sir,  till  you  came  to  speak.  Was 
you  wantin’  Joe  ? ” 

44 No;  we  came  over  because  Dorothy  Maybrook 
left  word  your  boy  was  sick.  This  is  my  daughter 
Rose.  We  brought  some  lemons  and  other  trifles. 
The  little  man  might  like  them.” 

As  she  turned,  Rose  took  note  of  the  unkempt  hair, 
the  slight  stoop  of  the  woman’s  unusually  tall  figure, 

4* 


54 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


and  the  shoeless,  uncovered,  and  distorted  feet.  Not 
less  the  desolate,  comfortless  cabin  caught  her  eye, — 
the  rude  wooden  furniture,  and  the  bed,  whence  came 
the  hoarse  breathing  of  the  sick  child.  To  her  sur- 
prise, Mrs.  Colkett  said : 

“Dory  Maybrook  ’s  always  a-fussin’  over  other 
folks’  concerns,  ’stead  of  mindin’  her  own  avoirs.” 
Lyndsay,  who  was  standing  beside  Rose,  looked 
up  at  the  woman. 

“ I think,”  he  said,  “ Dorothy  is  incapable  of  want- 
ing to  be  other  than  kind.” 

“S’pose  so.  She  might  of  let  on  she  was  goin’ 
a-beggin’.” 

“Oh,  it  was  not  that,”  cried  Rose,  bewildered  by 
the  woman’s  mode  of  receiving  a kindness. 

“Dare  say:  maybe  not.  All  the  same,  me  and 
Joe  ain’t  never  asked  no  favors.  Set  down,  miss.” 
“No,  thank  you,”  returned  Rose,  and  began  to 
empty  her  basket  of  fruit  and  other  luxuries. 

“We  came  over,”  said  Lyndsay,  “because  my  wife 
thought  you  might  need  help.” 

“It  ain’t  no  use.  It  was  n’t  never  no  use.  That 
boy  ’s  a-goin’  like  the  rest.” 

“ I trust  not  so  bad  as  that.” 

“Yes;  he ’s  a-goin’  like  them  others.” 

“ You  have  lost  other  children  ? ” said  Rose,  gently, 
looking  up  as  she  cleared  the  basket. 

“Yes;  two,  and  he  ’s  the  last.  They  had  n’t  no 
great  time  while  they  was  alive,  and  now  they  ’re 
lyin’  out  in  the  wood,  and  no  more  mark  over  ’em 
than  if  they  was  dead  dogs.  There  won’t  no  one 
care.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


55 


“Yes,  I shall  care;  I do  care,  Mrs.  Colkett.  Oh, 
is  n’t  it  hard  to  say  why  such  things  do  happen?” 
“ Happen  ! ” said  the  woman.  “ Dorothy,  she  says 
God  took  them  children.  I ’d  like  to  know  why? 
Preachin’  ’s  easy  business.  God ! What  do  I know 
about  God,  except  that  he  ’s  done  nothin’  for  me? 
And  I ’m  to  be  thankful, — what  for  ? ” As  she  spoke 
a hoarse  sound  came  from  the  bed.  “ For  that  poor 
little  man  a-croakin’  there,  I suppose  ! ” 

As  Rose  was  about  to  reply,  her  father  touched 
her  arm,  and,  understanding  that  argument  was  thus 
hinted  to  be  unwise,  she  said : 

“ Let  me  see  the  little  fellow  ? ” 

“ You  may,  if  you  ’ve  a mind.  ’T  ain’t  no  good. 
When  it  is  n’t  any  good,  it  is  n’t  any  good,  and 
that  ’s  all  there  is  to  it.” 

Rose  went  up  to  the  bed.  A sickening  odor  filled  the 
close  air.  She  saw  beneath  her  a stout  little  boy  of  ten, 
hot  and  dusky  red  with  fever,  his  lips  purple,  two  small 
hands  tightly  locked,  with  the  thumbs  in  the  palms, 
the  head,  soaked  with  the  death-sweat,  rolling  rhyth- 
mically from  side  to  side.  The  woman  followed  her. 
“ Has  he  had  any  one  to  see  him  ? ” said  Lyndsay. 
“Yes.  We  had  a doctor  from  down  river.  He 
came  twice.  He  was  n’t  no  use.  He  took  ’most  all 
the  money  we  had  left.” 

“We  shall  be  glad  to  help  you.” 

“ Much  obliged,  sir.  It  ’s  only  to  bury  him  now. 
There ’s  one  mercy  anyways, — it  don’t  cost  much  for 
funerals  up  here.  It ’s  just  get  a preacher  and  dig  a 
hole  and  my  man  to  make  a box.  Thank  you,  all  the 
same.” 


56 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


Here  was  poverty  so  brutal  in  its  results  that  even 
the  pretense  of  sentiment  was  absent.  Rose  was 
troubled.  Before  her  was  death,  and  it  was  new  to 
her.  She  turned  to  her  father.  “ Oh,  can’t  some- 
thing be  done?” 

He  tried  a moment  with  unprofessional  awkward- 
ness to  find  the  pulse.  There  was  none  he  could  feel. 
“ What  did  the  doctor  say  ? What  is  the  matter  with 
the  boy,  Mrs.  Colkett  ? ” 

“ He  left  some  medicine  stuff ; but  laws ! the  child 
could  n’t  take  it.  The  doctor  he  says  it ’s  diphthery, 
or  something  like  that.  I don’t  rightly  know.  It 
don’t  matter  none.” 

All  this  was  said  in  a slow  monotone,  as  if,  Rose 
thought, — almost  as  if  the  woman,  the  mother,  had 
been  an  uninterested  spectator.  After  a pause  she 
added,  in  the  same  slow  voice : 

"If  he ’s  goin’  he  ’ll  go, and  that’s  all  there  is  of  it.” 

At  the  word  diphtheria,  Lyndsay  recoiled,  pushing 
Rose  back  from  the  bed.  “ Harry!”  he  exclaimed. 
“ It  was  that ! Go  out,  Rose  ! Go  at  once  ! ” 

“ Lord,  is  it  ketchin’  ? ” said  the  woman,  shrinking 
back  from  the  bed.  "That  fool  never  said  so.  If 
I ’m  to  git  it,  I guess  the  mischief ’s  done.  If  J oe  he 
gits  it,  Hiram  ’ll  have  to  make  the  box.” 

“ Come  away,  Rose.” 

The  girl  was  divided  between  horror  and  pity.  At 
the  door  she  turned. 

"I  am  not  afraid.  Let  me  stay,  father, — I must 
stay ! ” 

“No;  it  is  useless,  and  might  be  worse  than  use- 
less.” As  she  obeyed  him,  a short,  squat  figure  of  a 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


57 


man  coming  into  the  doorway  darkened  the  dimly  lit 
room.  He  moved  aside  as  Rose  went  out  into  the 
sun.  Lyndsay  went  by  him  also,  and  the  man,  turn- 
ing back,  said,  “ It  ’s  about  all  over,  I guess.  We  ’ve 
got  mo^e  ’n  we  can  handle,  sir.  Seems  there  ’s  no 
end  of  troubles.” 

“ Come  this  way,”  returned  Lyndsay.  “ And  you, 
Rose,  wait  by  the  fence.” 

He  saw  but  too  clearly  that  the  stout,  ruddy  little 
man  had  been  taking  whisky.  Joe  Colkett  followed 
him. 

“ Good  Lord,  my  man,  that  child  is  dying, — will 
be  dead,  I am  sure,  before  night  ; and  here  you  are  in 
liquor  just  when  that  poor  woman  most  wants  help.” 

“ I ain’t  that  drunk  I can’t  do  chores.  Fact  is,  Mr. 
Lyndsay,  I went  down  to  ask  Dory  Maybrook  jus’  to 
lend  me  a little  money.  That  doctor  he  took  most 
all  my  wood  wage.” 1 

“ Well?” 

“ She  would  n’t  do  it.” 

“Well  ? ” 

“ She  said  she ’d  come  up  and  help,  an’  if  my  old 
woman  wanted  any  she  might  have  it.  That  ain’t  no 
way  to  treat  a man.” 

“No,”  said  Lyndsay,  with  such  emphasis  as  satis- 
fied his  own  conscience,  and  also  the  duller  sense 
of  the  lumberman.  “No, — that  is  not  the  way  to 
treat  a man.  Listen  to  me,  Joe:  Don’t  drink  any 
more.” 

“I  ain’t  any,”  said  Joe. 

“ Really  ? ” 

1 Money  earned  by  lumbering  in  the  winter  woods. 


58 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Not  a drop.  It  was  just  a bit  I had  left.” 

“ Come  to  me  when  it  is  all  over,  and  I will  pay  the 
doctor’s  bill,  and  you  can  help  clear  off  the  brush 
back  of  my  cabin.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir.” 

“ You  don’t  drink  often,  I think.  Why  should  you 
now  ? Was  it  trouble  — about  your  child  ? ” 

“ He  was  n’t  my  child.” 

“What!”  exclaimed  Lyndsay,  puzzled;  “how  is 
that?” 

“ My  wife  was  a widder,  you  see,  and  them  was  all 
her  first  man’s ; I never  had  no  child.  ’T  ain’t  like  it 
was  my  own  child.  He  was  awful  spiled,  that  boy. 
I licked  him  two  weeks  this  Sunday  cornin'  for  makin’ 
fire  by  the  wood-pile.  Gosh,  what  a row  Susie  did 
make ! ” 

“ My  God ! ” exclaimed  Lyndsay. 

The  man  understood  him  well  enough. 

“Oh,  I don’t  go  to  say  I did  n’t  like  him  none. 
Lord,  I ’d  done  most  anything  to  git  that  boy  well. 
I wanted  that  money  to  help  put  him  underground. 
It  don’t  cost  much  buryin’  up  here,  but  it  ain’t  to  be 
done  for  nothin’,  and  you ’ve  got  to  look  ahead. 
There  ’s  the  minister  ’s  got  to  be  fetched,  and  — 
and  — ” 

Here  the  man  sat  down  on  a stump,  and  putting  a 
palm  on  each  temple  and  an  elbow  on  each  knee, 
looked  silently  down  at  his  mother  earth. 

Respect  for  the  moods  of  men  is  one  of  the  deli- 
cacies of  the  best  manners.  Lyndsay  was  still  a 
minute.  Then  he  put  a hand  on  Joe’s  shoulder. 

“How  else  can  we  help  you?” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


59 


“ It ’s  my  woman  I ’m  a-thinkin’  of .”  He  spoke 
without  looking  up.  “ This  thing  ’s  the  last  and  the 
wust, — it  ’s  goin’  to  down  her  awful.  And  there  ain’t 
nothing  I can  do, — nothin’ ! ” Here  he  passed  his 
sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  then  glanced  at  the  unac- 
customed moisture,  and  had  a dulled  remembrance 
of  having  cried  long  years  before  ; he  failed  to  recall 
why  or  just  when. 

“ You’re  a-thinkin’  I ’m  a mean  man  to  be  a-drinkin’ 
and  that  child  a-dyin’  in  yon  ; and  that  woman ! That’s 
where  it  gits  a man.  I ain’t  been  a bad  man  to  her  • 
I ’ve  took  care  of  them  children  right  along,  Mr. 
Lyndsay,  and  I never  beat  her  none,  and  I don’t  mind 
me  I ever  used  no  bad  words  to  her,  not  when  I was 
wore  out,  and  — and  — had  n’t  a shillin’,  and  was 
busted  up  with  blackleg.1  I don’t  git  it  clear,  sir; 
I don’t  care  most  none  for  that  child,  but  she  might 
kill  me  if  it  would  git  it  well.  I don’t  see  nothin’  to 
do  but  drink,  and  that ’s  the  fact.” 

Lyndsay  stood  silent  in  thought.  He  had  seen 
enough  of  life  not  to  wonder  that  drink  could  be  dis- 
tinctly regarded  as,  under  stress  of  circumstances,  an 
available  resource.  He  had  also  seen  men  or  women 
capable  of  a single  affection,  and  of  only  one.  What 
there  was  to  know  of  this  man’s  relations  to  his  wife 
and  her  offspring  had  been  uncovered  with  frank  bru- 
tality. He  had  said  there  was  nothing  for  him  except 
to  drink. 

“ But  if  you  love  your  wife,  my  man,  you  want  to 
help  her,  and  if  you  drink  you  are  useless, — and,  in 
fact,  you  add  to  her  troubles.” 

1 The  scurvy  of  the  lumberman, — more  rare  nowadays. 


60 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“It  ain’t  that,  sir.  Fact  is,  she  don’t  care  a’most 
none  for  me, — and  there ’s  the  truth.  You  would  n’t 
think,  sir,  what  a pretty  woman  she  was.  She  took 
me  to  get  them  children  a home  and  feed.  Dory,  she 
knows.  I ain’t  given  to  tellin’  it  round,  but  you  ’re 
different.  Somehow  it  helps  a man  to  say  things 
out.” 

Here  was  the  strange  hurt  of  a limited  tenderness, 
with  all  this  rudeness  of  self-disclosure,  and,  too, 
some  of  the  stupid,  careless  immodesty  of  drink. 

“ I take  it  kindly,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ that  you  have 
told  me  the  whole  of  your  troubles.  Come  over  and 
see  me.  I left  some  tobacco  on  the  table  for  you.” 

“Much  obliged,  sir,”  and,  rising,  Joe  took  Mr. 
Lyndsay’s  offered  hand.  “I  ’ll  come,”  he  said,  and 
walked  back  toward  the  cabin,  while  Lyndsay,  beck- 
oning to  Rose,  turned  into  the  ox-road  which  led  to 
the  shore. 

For  a while  they  were  silent.  Then  he  said,  “ This 
child  is  dying  of  a fever ; no  word  of  the  diphtheria 
to  your  mother  or  even  to  Anne.” 

“ One  can  escape  mama  easily,  but  Aunt  Anne  is  a 
relentless  questioner.” 

“ I will  speak  to  her.” 

“ That  would  be  better,  I think.  How  horrible  it 
all  was ! And  that  woman  ! Do  you  think  she  really 
did  not  care  ? ” 

“No,  no,  dear.  Imagine  a life  of  constant  poverty, 
utter  want  of  means, — to-day’s  wages  meaning  to- 
morrow’s bread;  a cruel  soil;  a mortgaged  farm  at 
that ; then  one  child  after  another  dying ; the  help- 
lessness of  want  of  money ; the  utter  lack  of  all  re- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


61 


sources;  the  lonely,  meager  life.  This  woman  has 
the  moral  disease  of  one  long,  unchanging  monotony 
of  despair.” 

“I  see) — I see  — you  know  more,  and  that  makes 
you  forgive  more.” 

“ Some  one  has  said,  Rose,  that  to  be  able  to  explain 
all  is  to  be  able  to  forgive  all,  and  that  only  One  can 
truly  explain  all.” 

“It  seems  to  me,  Pardy,  that  poverty  has  more 
temptations  in  it  than  wealth,  and  more  explanations 
of  sin,  too.  Is  n’t  the  man  a brute,  Pardy  ? He  had 
been  drinking,  and  to  drink  at  such  a time  ! ” 

“No;  he  is  coarse,  but  not  a bad  fellow.  You  or  I 
would  have  much  we  could  turn  to  if  trouble  came 
upon  us.  This  man  has  nothing.  It  does  not  sur- 
prise me  that  he  drank.  It  is  not  his  habit.  But  let 
us  drop  it  all  now.  I am  sorry  I took  you.”  He  was 
not  unwise  enough  to  speak  of  the  anguish  of  dread 
which  had  possessed  him  as  he  stood  by  the  bedside, 
and  now  made  haste  to  add,  “ And  yet  the  lesson  was 
a good  one.  You  won’t  want  to  fish,  I fear?”  He 
had  in  some  ways  appreciative  touch  of  his  kind,  and 
knew  the  daughter  well. 

“ No,  no ; not  to-day.  Let  us  go  home.” 

“ As  you  please,  dear  ” ; and  they  slid  away  swiftly 
down  the  gleaming  water  as  the  evening  shadows 
crept  across  the  stream. 

After  awhile  Rose  said,  looking  up,  “You  must 
have  seen,  oh,  so  many  people  die,  Pardy.” 

“Yes;  Death  was  for  four  years  a constant  com- 
rade. I had  always  a firm  belief  I would  not  be 
killed.  Some  men  were  always  predicting  their 


62 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


own  deaths  5 others  carefully  avoided  the  question. 
I know  one  very  gallant  fellow  who  was  always  a 
gay  comrade  in  camp,  and  almost  abnormally  merry 
in  battle  unless  the  fight  took  place  on  a day  of  the 
month  which  was  an  odd  number.  Then  he  was  sure 
to  think  he  would  be  killed.  Men  in  war  are  like 
gamblers,  and  have  queer  notions  as  to  luck.  You 
knew  that  child  was  dying  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ How  did  you  know  it  ? ” 

“I  cannot  tell.  What  troubled  me,  Pardy,  was  — 
I think  what  troubled  me — was  the  loneliness  of 
death;  that  little  fellow  going  away  and  away,  all 
by  himself.” 

“Yes,  dear. 

1 Once,  once  only,  love  must  drop  the  hand  of  love  ! ’ /4; 

“ But  what  a horrible  woman ! I can’t  help  think- 
ing that.” 

“Was  she?  Perhaps;  I don’t  know.”  His  charity 
was  older  than  hers. 

“Did  you  notice,  Rose,  her  sad  fatalism:  if  the 
child  was  to  die,  it  would  die?” 

“Yes;  it  was  a strange  illustration  of  our  talk.” 


CHAPTER  V 


■ E have  so  far  heard  little  of  Mrs. 
Lyndsay ; but,  in  fact,  she  was 
usually  more  felt  than  heard  in  the 
every-day  life  of  the  household. 
Archibald  Lyndsay  said,  “ She  had 
but  one  defect,  and  that  was  not  a 
fault.  She  was  so  entirely  good  that  she  lacked  all 
human  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  repentance.” 

“ There  is  no  credit  to  be  had  in  this  world,  my 
dear,  for  monotony  of  virtue,”  said  Anne  Lyndsay. 
“ When  you  do  some  of  your  sweet,  nice  things,  that 
cost  you  no  end  of  trouble,  people  merely  say,  ‘ Oh, 
yes,  Margaret  Lyndsay ! but  she  likes  to  do  that  kind 
of  thing.’  For  my  part  I prefer  that  wise  mixture 
of  vice  and  virtue  which  gives  variety  of  flavor  to 
life,  and  now  and  then  adds  the  unexpected.” 

This  was  said  at  breakfast  on  Sunday  morning, 
the  day  after  Rose  had  seen  the  dying  lad,  who  now 
lay  quiet  in  the  dismal  cabin  where  the  mother  sat 
angrily  brooding  over  her  loss. 

Lyndsay  had  spoken  of  some  pleasant  act  of 
thoughtful  kindness  on  the  part  of  his  wife  ; and  as 
Anne,  laughing,  made  her  comment,  Margaret  had 
shaken  a menacing  finger  at  her  kindly  critic,  saying 
quietly : 


64 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Oh,  I think  we  are  very  much  alike,  Anne  77 ; at 
which  there  was  a general  outbreak  of  mirth,  for 
these  people  were  much  given  to  laughter. 

Lyndsay  declared  that  he  had  observed  the  re- 
semblance. 

“ And  the  boys  inherit  our  goodness,”  added  Anne, 
demurely.  “At  least,  it  seemed  to  me  I had  evi- 
dence of  it  pretty  early  to-day ; but  then  the  hymn 
says,  6 Let  boys  delight  to  bark  and  bite.7  I disre- 
member  the  rest,  as  Peter,  our  cook,  says.77  At  this 
Ned  gave  his  aunt7s  gown  a gentle  pull,  by  way  of 
respectfully  intimating  that  she  was  getting  them 
into  difficulties. 

“‘Let7  is  permissive/7  she  went  on.  “I  was  not 
really  disturbed,  Archie 77 ) for  her  brother  was  now 
curiously  regarding  a rather  distinct  scratch  on  Dick?s 
ruddy  cheek. 

“ Raspberry  thorns,  Dicky  ? 77  he  said,  maliciously. 

“No,  sir.77 

“Sleep-cats,77  said  Anne.  “That  was  always  our 
nursery  explanation.77 

“What  then?  Another  row?  I thought  we  had 
had  enough  for  a week.77 

“ And  on  Sunday  morning,  Dick ! 77  said  the  mother. 
“ I would  n7t.77 

Anne  looked  up,  amused  at  this  latter  declaration. 

“Never  mind,  Margaret,77  said  her  husband.  “ What 
was  it  about,  boys  ? 77 

“Oh,  it  was  n7t  much  of  a row.  It  was  only  a 
scrimmage,77  said  Dick.  “Ned  said  King  James  cut 
off  Raleigh7s  head  because  he  would  smoke  tobacco. 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  nonsense?77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  65 

“ But  Aunt  Anne  told  me  King  James  wrote  a 
book  against  smoking, — did  n’t  you,  aunt?”  urged 
the  smaller  lad. 

“ And  I said  it  was  ridiculous,”  cried  Dick. 

“ And  Jack  he  up  and  said  it  was  n’t,  because  if  he 
was  a king,  and  people  did  n’t  do  as  he  wanted,  he 
would  cut  off  their  heads,  like  that,”  said  Ned,  knock- 
ing off  the  end  of  an  egg,  by  way  of  illustration. 

“And  so  we  had  a melley,”  remarked  Jack.  “It 
was  n’t  much,  and  that ’s  all  there  was  of  it.  I don’t 
see  why  people  make  such  a fuss.” 

“Suppose  you  let  this  suffice  for  the  day,  you 
rascals,”  said  Mr.  Lyndsay. 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ And  it  was  n’t  Raleigh  who  brought  tobacco  to 
England,  was  it,  Aunt  Anne?”  said  Ned.  “I  told 
Dick  it  was  Hawkins,  and  he  would  n’t  believe  me. 
I saw  it  in  — ” 

“ Where  ? ” 

Ned  hesitated.  His  habit  of  lying  on  his  stomach 
on  the  floor  in  the  long  winter  afternoons,  with  some 
monstrous  quarto,  was  matter  for  unending  chaff  on 
the  part  of  the  twins. 

“Where  was  it,  old  Book  Gobbler?”  cried  Dick. 
“Where  was  it?” 

“ It  was  in  Hollinshead’s  Chronicles,”  returned  the 
lad,  coloring. 

“You  are  right,”  said  Aunt  Anne.  “You  would 
do  better  to  read  a little  more  yourself,  Jack,  than  to 
laugh  at  Ned.” 

“ What ’s  the  use,  if  I am  going  to  West  Point?  ” 
said  Jack. 


5 


66 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Yon  will  find  out,  I fancy,  when  you  get  there,” 
remarked  Rose.  “ I am  told  it  is  dreadful.” 

“ Well,  there  ’s  time  enough  to  think  about  it,”  re- 
turned Jack,  with  his  usual  philosophical  calm.  “I 
wish  it  was  n’t  Sunday.  Oh,  dear ! ” and  he  groaned 
in  anticipation  of  the  dullness  of  the  day. 

“ Jack  ! ” exclaimed  the  mother.  “ Oh,  Jack ! ” 

“ Well,  you  can’t  go  to  church,  and  there ’s  no  fish- 
ing ; and,  mother,  you  know  you  don’t  like  us  to  read 
novels  on  Sunday,  and  I ’ve  read  voyages  until  I 
know  all  there  are  up  here, — and  I don’t  see  what  a 
fellow  is  to  do.” 

“ I shall  read  the  service  before  you  all  scatter.” 
‘‘Well,  that  does  n’t  take  long.” 

As  a means  of  passing  the  time,  this  device  of  her 
sister-in-law  enormously  delighted  Anne.  “ I confess 
to  a certain  amount  of  sympathy  with  the  unem- 
ployed. It  is  a Sabbath  lockout.” 

Margaret  turned  on  her  with  abruptness;  but 
Lyndsay  said,  quickly: 

“ My  dear  Anne,  this  is  Margaret’s  business.  Keep 
out  of  other  folks’  small  wars.  You  are  as  bad  as  J aek.” 
“ That  is  true,  Archie.  I am  a conversational  free 
lance.  I beg  pardon,  Margaret.  I will  never,  never 
do  it  again.” 

“ Not  until  the  next  time,”  returned  Mrs.  Lyndsay, 
with  unusual  ascerbity.  “ It  is  really  of  no  moment,” 
she  added,  “ but  I like  to  manage  the  boys  myself.” 
“You  are  right.  I was  wrong  to  meddle.” 

“I  propose,”  said  Lyndsay,  “that  the  two  Gaspe 
men  shall  take  you  fellows  up  the  Arrapedia.  You 
will  find  it  hard  work  if  they  let  you  pole,  and  you 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


67 


can't  drown  there  if  yon  try ; and  the  black  flies, 
mosquitos,  and  midges  will  make  you  miserable. 
And,  Jack,  come  here, — nearer.  This  in  your  ear: 
at  the  second  bend  there  is  an  old  clearing,  and  under 
the  eaves  of  the  cabin  — now,  don't  let  it  out  — there 
is  a mighty  nest  of  hornets.  I recommend  it  to  your 
attention.  I owe  them  a grudge." 

Jack's  face  flushed  with  joy. 

“ Thank  you,  sir." 

Mrs.  Lyndsay  said,  “ What  is  it,  Archie  ? " 

“ Oh,  nothing ; a little  secret  between  Jack  the 
Giant  Killer  and  his  pa."  Lyndsay  had  a pretty  dis- 
tinct notion  that  fighting  hornets  as  a Sunday  dis- 
traction would  not  be  altogether  to  his  wife's  taste. 

“ Don't  tell,  Jack." 

“ No,  sir." 

“ Honor  bright ! " 

“ All  right,  sir." 

“ Won't  you  tell  us  ? " asked  Ned  of  his  father. 

“ No." 

“ But  I have  an  irresistible  curiosity,"  said  the  boy. 

“And  I have  an  impenetrable  resolution  to  hold 
my  tongue.  You  are  to  sail  under  sealed  orders." 
One  of  his  delights  was  to  offer  problems  to  this 
sturdy  young  intellect.  “ Suppose,  sir," — and  he  put 
the  old  scholiast  question, — “ If  the  impenetrable 
were  to  meet  the  irresistible,  what  would  happen  ? " 

“ That  would  be  a row,"  said  Jack. 

Ned  had  a deep  dislike  to  being  beaten  by  these  ab- 
surd questions.  His  detestation  of  intellectual  defeat 
was  as  deep  as  his  brother's  disgust  at  physical  dis- 
comfiture. He  hesitated,  flushed,  and  replied: 


68 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ It  could  n’t  be  at  all,  father,  because  it  says  in  the 
Bible  that  the  world  will  be  destroyed,  and,  if  there 
was  an  impenetrable,  that  could  n’t  be  at  all, — I say  it 
could  n’t  be.” 

“ Shade  of  Confucius ! ” exclaimed  Anne. 

“ But  suppose.” 

“ I can’t.”  He  had  a sense  of  wrath  at  the  question. 
At  last  he  said,  “ You  might  as  well  ask  a fellow 
what  would  happen  if  the  impossible  met  the  incom- 
prehensible.” 

“ Glory  ! what  dictionary  words  ! ” cried  Dick. 

“Pretty  well,  old  fellow,”  said  Lyndsay,  laughing 
as  they  rose. 

“ Oh,  I hate  things  like  that.” 

“Rose,  Rose,  put  some  lunch  in  a basket.  We 
shall  make  a day  of  it.  We  will  take  the  skiff  and 
Tom.  Put  my  note-book  and  pencils  in  the  basket, 
and  your  sketch-book ; and  don’t  forget  my  field-glass. 
Won’t  you  come,  Margaret  ? ” 

“No,-  I am  going  to  Mrs.  Maybrook’s  this  morning, 
and,  Archie,  I want  Hiram  to  attend  to  something  at 
the  church  where  Harry  is.  Don’t  trouble  about  me.” 

“ Anne,  won’t  you  come  with  us  ? ” 

“No;  I am  not  good  for  all  day.  I shall  go  and 
have  a talk  with  Mrs.  Maybrook  this  afternoon.  If  I 
lie  down  until  then,  I may  manage  it.  Margaret  says 
it  sweetens  one  for  a week  to  see  that  woman.  I 
mean  to  try  the  recipe.” 

“ I am  getting  very  curious  about  her,”  said  Rose ; 
“and  there  is  so  much  to  do,  and  I must  catch  a 
salmon  to-morrow.” 

“We  kill  salmon,”  said  Lyndsay. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


69 


“ But  fjon  catch  them  with  a pole  and  a line.” 

“No;  they  catch  themselves;  and  we  call  it  a rod, 
miss,  please.” 

“ Yes,  Marcus  Aurelius.” 

“At  ten  o’clock,  sauce-box;  and  get  your  wits  in 
order.” 

“ Ay,  ay,  sir ! ” and  she  touched  her  forehead  and 
went  to  secure  their  lunch. 

Anne  took  a book,  as  usual,  and  went  out  to  lie 
under  the  porch  in  a hammock.  The  boats  got  away, 
and  still  she  lay  quiet.  Delicate  of  features,  the 
mouth  and  large  gray  eyes  her  only  beauties;  her 
nose  fine,  but  large  for  the  rest  of  her  face,  and  aqui- 
line ; her  forehead  square,  with  a mass  of  brown  hair 
set  too  high  above  its  pallor  for  good  looks,  perhaps 
justified  the  common  notion  that  Anne  Lyndsay 
never  had  been  even  pretty.  Years  of  pain  and  en- 
durance had  lessened,  not  increased,  her  natural  irri- 
tability, and  given  to  her  face  an  expression  of  singu- 
lar force.  It  may  be  added  that  she  was  a trifle  vain 
of  the  small  hands  and  feet  which  she,  like  all  of  her 
people,  possessed. 

As  she  lay  at  more  than  usual  ease,  dreamily  happy 
as  she  noticed  the  sun,  the  shadows,  and  the  far- 
stretching  curves  of  the  river,  she  saw  a dugout, 
what  in  the  North  is  called  a pirogue,1  put  out  from 
the  farther  bank.  A woman  stood  in  the  stern  and 
urged  it  across  the  swift  current  with  notable 
strength  and  dexterity.  Presently  it  ran  onto  the 
beach,  and  Dorothy  Maybrook  came  up  the  steps,  a 
basket  in  her  hand. 

1 Spanish,  piriagua . 


5* 


70 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


As  to  most  things,  all  books,  and  people  in  general, 
Anne  Lyndsay  had  a highly  vitalized  curiosity , but, 
as  to  this  woman,  it  was  more  eager  than  usual.  She 
was  mildly  skeptical  as  to  the  fact  that  the  wife  of  a 
small  Quaker  farmer,  illy  educated,  and,  of  course, 
without  the  tact  which  makes  sympathy  acceptable, 
could  have  been  what  Margaret  Lyndsay  said  this 
woman  had  been  to  her  in  the  last  summer’s  trial. 
Anne  was  apt  to  distrust  Mrs.  Lyndsay’s  unwonted 
enthusiasms.  Also,  this  invalid  lady  was  very  demo- 
cratic in  theory,  but  by  nature’s  decree  an  aristocrat, 
whether  she  would  or  not.  Thus,  Anne  Lyndsay 
was  now  a little  on  her  guard,  and  more  curious  than 
she  would  have  liked  to  have  been  thought. 

But  when,  as  Dorothy  Maybrook  advanced,  a pair 
of  large  gray  eyes  came  into  the  horizon  of  another 
pair  almost  as  luminous,  Anne,  as  she  afterward  ex- 
plained, felt  something  akin  to  fascination.  She  made 
up  her  mind  as  Mrs.  Maybrook  approached  that  her 
facial  expression  was  one  of  strange  purity  of  repose. 
The  next  moment  Miss  Anne  cast  a foot  over  the 
hammock’s  edge,  and  made  an  effort  to  rise,  in  order 
to  greet  the  new-comer.  But  to  get  out  of  a ham- 
mock with  ease  is  not  given  to  mortals  to  achieve 
without  much  practice,  and  as  all  rapid  movements 
were  sure  to  summon  at  once  her  unrelenting  enemy, 
pain,  she  fell  back  with  a low  exclamation,  wrung 
from  her  by  pain  so  extreme  that  she  was  quite  un- 
prepared. Sudden  anger  stirred  within  her,  because 
she  had  so  plainly  betrayed  her  feelings  to  one  who 
had  been  described  to  her  as  full  of  sympathy  and 
almost  incredibly  competent  to  notice  the  peculiari- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


71 


ties  of  mbn  and  things.  If  this  woman  should  dare 
to  pity  her,  in  words  or  with  looks  ! 

11  Good  morning.  Mrs.  Maybrook,  I am  sure.  I 
am  Miss  Lyndsay,”  said  Miss  Anne,  in  her  most  tran- 
quil voice,  and  it  was  capable  of  many  tones. 

Said  Dorothy  to  herself,  “ That  woman  is  n’t  long 
for  this  world.”  What  she  said  aloud  was : 

“ Yes,  I ’m  Dorothy  Maybrook.  I brought  over 
some  wild  strawberries  for  Mrs.  Lyndsay.  They  ’re 
very  early,  but  there  ’s  a sort  of  little  nest  right 
back  of  our  clearing,  and  the  sun  gets  in  there  con- 
stant,— seems  as  if  it  could  n’t  ever  get  out, — and  it 
hatches  the  berries  two  weeks  before  they  ’re  done 
blooming  anywhere  else.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Anne,  who  was  making  a diffi- 
cult effort  to  catch  with  the  foot  outside  of  the  ham- 
mock a slipper  lost  in  the  foiled  attempt  to  rise. 

Mrs.  Maybrook  set  down  the  berries,  and  without 
a word  went  on  her  knees,  took  the  dainty  slipper, 
lifted  the  foot,  bestowed  a glance  of  swift  curiosity 
upon  it  as  she  put  on  the  slipper,  and  gently  replaced 
the  foot  in  the  hammock. 

“ Sakes  alive ! If  I was  a man,  I ’d  just  say  it ’s 
beautiful.  Being  a woman,  I ’d  like  to  know  how 
you  walk  on  them?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  very  much ; not  nowadays,”  returned 
Anne,  smiling.  “ Thank  you.” 

It  was  a neat  little  shot,  although  quite  unconscious 
of  aim.  Miss  Anne  tried  to  think  she  disliked  both 
the  help  and  the  outspoken  admiration.  She  made  a 
feeble  effort  to  generalize  the  compliment,  and  so  to 
get  away  from  its  personal  application : 


72  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ It  ’s  a family  failing,  Mrs.  Maybrook.  Even  our 
men  have  absurdly  small  hands  and  feet.  I should 
have  offered  you  a camp-chair.  Get  one,  please,  out 
of  the  house.  I am  quite  incapable  of  helping  any 
one, — even  myself.”  Mrs.  Maybrook  did  as  Anne 
desired,  and  sat  down. 

“My  sister-in-law  was  going  to  see  you  to-day. 
Shall  I call  her?  She  must  be  in  her  room.” 

“ Oh,  there  ’s  time  enough.  That  ’s  the  only  thing 
we  have  a plenty  of  up  here.  We  ain’t  time-starved, 
I can  tell  you.”  Anne  began  to  be  interested.  Quaint- 
ness of  phrase  was  a thing  so  rare.  For  a few 
minutes  she  had  been  struggling  with  one  of  her  few 
weaknesses.  At  last  she  gave  way : 

“ Excuse  me,  but  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  put 
the  basket  of  strawberries  in  the  house?  The  sun 
will  spoil  them.” 

“ Oh,  but  the  sun  is  good  for  them.  They  won’t 
take  any  hurt.” 

“ But  I shall.  The  fact  is,  when  I was  a girl  I was 
picking  strawberries  in  the  White  Hills,  and  a snake  — 
oh,  a rattlesnake  — struck  at  me.  I have  been  ever 
since  unable  to  endure  the  odor  of  strawberries.  I 
think  it  becomes  worse  as  I grow  more  feeble.  It  is 
very  absurd.”  She  was  absolutely  pleading  her 
weakness  to  this  simple  woman,  and  had  ceased  for 
the  time  to  be  self-critical. 

Mrs.  Maybrook  rose,  and  without  more  words,  after 
carrying  the  basket  to  the  cook’s  house,  returned 
around  the  cabin  to  her  seat  facing  Miss  Anne.  The 
smile  she  wore  as  she  came  back  would  usually  have 
been  taken  by  Anne  for  vulgar  comment  on  her  own 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


73 


display  of  what  might,  with  reason,  have  been  taken 
for  pure  affectation.  Now  it  struck  Anne  as  being  like 
her  own  habit  of  smiling  large,  or  smiling  small,  as 
she  said,  at  some  humorous  aspect  of  the  passing  hour. 

“ What  amuses  you  i ” she  queried  pleasantly. 

“ Oh,  I was  just  a-tliinking  you  might  feel  about 
those  berries  like  Mrs.  Eve  might  of  felt  when  she 
was  coming  on  in  years  and  one  of  her  grandchildren 
fetched  her  a nice,  red  apple.  Guess  he  got  warmed 
for  it.  Sandals  might  have  come  handy  in  big 
families,  those  days!” 

Anne  looked  up,  laughing  gaily,  and  noting  by  the 
exception  how  rarely  Mrs.  Maybrook  failed  in  her 
grammar. 

“ Delightful ! Now  I feel  historically  justified.  Are 
there  any  snakes  here  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no ; none  to  hurt.  But,  bless  me,  I never  can 
hear  about  snakes  without  thinking  of  Sairy  Kitchins.” 

“And  what  was  that?”  said  Miss  Lyndsay,  enjoy- 
ing talk  with  a mind  as  fresh  and  unconventional  as 
her  guest’s. 

“ Oh,  it  ain’t  much.  You  see,  I ’ve  had  asthma  so 
bad  that  Hiram  and  me,  since  the  children  are  gone, 
we  have  traveled  here  and  there,  trying  to  find  a 
place  where  I would  n’t  have  it.” 

“ Have  you  suffered  much  ? ” said  Anne. 

“Yes, — quite  my  share.  But  there  are  worse 
things.” 

“ Tfhat  is  so.” 

“Hiram  and  me  get  along  most  anywhere.  We 
have  a bit  of  money, — not  overmuch.  We  are  both 
pretty  handy,  and  once  we  tried  it  two  years  down 


74 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


South,  at  Marysville,  in  Alabama.  That  was  a right 
nice  place  for  snakes/’ 

“Gracious  Heavens!  You  talk  as  if  you  liked 
them.” 

“Well,  they  ’re  handsome,  and  brave,  and  don’t 
want  to  hurt  you ; and  how  many  men  can  you  say 
that  about  ? ” 

“ A fair  defense,”  said  Anne  ; “ but  what  of  Sairy 
Kitchins  ? I love  a story  ; I am  like  a child.” 

“Well,  Sairy  she  had  just  come  that  spring.  She 
was  the  wife  of  one  of  them  Methodist  preachers  that 
don’t  be  let  to  bide  long  anywhere, — the  kind  that 
goes  about  the  land  seeking  whom  they  may  devour. 
As  I came  along  the  road  with  her  there  was  a six- 
foot  rattler  lying  right  across  in  the  sun.  Down  went 
Sairy  on  her  knees.  6 Good  lands ! ’ said  I,  L what ’s 
the  good  prayin’  to  that  reptile?  A whole  camp- 
meeting could  n’t  convert  him.’  Well,  we  could  n’t 
get  by  him,  and  so  I got  a good,  big  stick  of  live  oak, 
and  fetched  him  a crack  on  the  head,  and  one  or  two 
more  to  make  sure.  Then  I said, 1 Come  along,  Sairy  ; 
he  won’t  sin  any  more;  if  that  fool  of  a woman,  Eve, 
had  had  any  sense,  and  a live-oak  stick  handy,  there 
would  n’t  have  been  no  need  of  you  and  me  going  to 
meeting  this  hot  day.’  ” 

“ I should  think  not,”  cried  Anne,  laughing.  “ And 
what  did  Sairy  say  ? I am  quite  on  her  side.” 

“ Oh,  she  told  her  husband,  and  I got  prayed  over  a 
heap.  It ’s  amazing  how  clear  those  preachers  see  the 
sins  of  other  people.” 

“ I think  it  a delightful  story.  I shall  tell  the  boys 
to-night.  I have  n’t  laughed  as  much  in  a month.” 


75 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

yj 

“ Dear  me ! It  must  be  ten  o'clock/’  said  Mrs.  May- 
brook,  looking  up  at  the  sun,  “ and  I must  see  Mrs. 
Lyndsay,  and  go  home  to  cook  Hiram's  dinner.  But 
I would  like  to  see  the  house.  You  know  last  year 
they  tented.  When  I was  here  yesterday  no  one  was 
about,  and  so  I did  not  go  in  to  look.  I was  dying  to 
see  it." 

Anne  smiled.  “ Help  me  a little." 

The  hand  she  met  with  hers  was  strong,  well-mod- 
eled, and  — if  tanned  by  sun,  and  showing  signs  of 
toil  in  the  broken  nails  — was,  like  the  gown,  scrupu- 
lously clean.  Dorothy  wore  no  head-cover,  and  her 
hair,  which  was  fine  and  abundant,  lay  in  flat,  old- 
fashioned  style  on  hen  temples,  and  was  caught  back 
in  an  ample  and  perfectly  neat  coil.  Again,  as  Anne 
rose,  the  look  of  repose  on  Dorothy's  face,  and  also 
the  absence  of  lines  of  care,  struck  her  no  less  than 
the  regularity  of  features.  There  was  none  of  the 
slouch  of  labor  ; Dorothy  sat  erect,  without  touching 
the  back  of  the  chair ; a woman  of  fifty  or  over,  and 
still  keeping  many  of  the  gracious  curves  of  feminine 
maturity. 

But  what  interested  Anne  most  in  Mrs.  Maybrook 
as  they  moved  about  the  room  — which  was  hall, 
dining-room,  and  sitting-room — was  her  simple  plea- 
sure in  the  white  curtains  Mrs.  Lyndsay  had  tied  up 
with  gay  ribbons,  the  cane  seats,  and  the  covers  of 
light  Eastern  stuffs,  not  very  remarkable  or  costly, 
but,  as  it  seemed,  pleasing  to  the  visitor.  Anne 
thought  she  would  have  noticed  the  books,  but  of 
these  she  made  no  mention,  albeit  the  collection  was 
odd  enough,  because  every  one  had  brought  what 


76 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


they  liked,  and  the  cleverly  built  book-shelves  Pierre 
had  made  were  full  to  overflow. 

Very  soon  Mrs.  Lyndsay  appeared,  gave  the  visitor 
a more  than  usually  warm  welcome,  and  at  last  asked 
about  the  Colketts  and  the  child. 

“ It  died  last  night,”  said  Mrs.  Maybrook.  “ I was 
up  there  pretty  early  to-day.  They  ’re  awful  hard 
folks  to  help  any ; it  ’s  like  setting  up  ten-pins,  and 
down  they  go,  in  a minute.  Hiram  says  they  have  n’t 
any  ‘ gitalongativeness.’  That  ’s  a great  word  with 
Hiram.” 

“ Do  they  want  help  ? What  is  there  we  can  do  ? ” 
said  Mrs.  Lyndsay. 

“ I would  n’t  know  to  tell  you.  Oh,  dear,  if  I was 
that  man,  I ’d  drink,  too.” 

“ No  ! No  ! ” 

“Yes,  I ’d  drink!  He  did,  some,  yesterday ; but 
I judge  he  ’s  taken  none  since  Mr.  Lyndsay  was 
there.  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  Susan  Colkett 
cared  more  for  those  children  of  hers  than  for  her 
first  man  or  Colkett,  or  anybody  else,  except  herself. 
She ’s  just  savage  now,  like  a bear  that  has  had  its 
cubs  taken  away.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  she  has  n’t 
got  the  means  of  wisdom  in  her,  and  never  had,  or 
else  she ’d  have  seen  you  can’t  live  in  a pigsty  and 
bring  up  live  children.  Oh ! You  were  asking  if 
they  want  anything?” 

“Yes,  Dorothy.” 

“Well,  Mr.  Carington  he  went  over  yesterday 
afternoon.  I guess  he  took  the  short  cut  or  he  would 
have  met  Mr.  Lyndsay  coming  out.  Mr.  Carington 
must  be  a pretty  nice  man.  There  ’s  not  many  as 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  77 

young  would  give  up  Saturday  afternoon  fishing, 
even  a bit  of  it,  to  go  and  see  about  a sick  brat. 
Fishermen  ’s  generally  right  selfish.  He  left  them 
twenty  dollars.  But  he  had  the  high-up  sense  to 
give  it  to  Susie.  He  ’s  a well  set-up  young  man ; I 
saw  him  poling  a pirogue  across.  It  takes  a lot  of 
judgment  in  a man’s  legs  to  handle  a dugout.” 

“ But  you  do  it  well,  I fancy,”  said  Anne. 

“ Yes,  but  I ’m  a woman.” 

“ Good,”  said  Miss  Lyndsay,  and  went  out,  leaving 
the  others  to  talk  alone. 

Then  Dorothy  said,  “What  troubles  that  woman 
the  most  you  could  n’t  think,  not  if  you  lived  as  long 
as  Noah.” 

“ And  what  is  it  ? ” 

“ It  ’s  because  there  won’t  be  any  tombstone. 
They  ’re  all  buried  in  the  wood  back  of  the  cabin. 
Poor  little  kittens,  just  dead  drownded  in  filth.  She 
had  better  have  thought  more  for  them  when  they 
were  alive.” 

“ I will  speak  to  Mr.  Lyndsay  about  it.” 

“It  would  be  just  that  much  wasted.” 

“Money  is  well  wasted  sometimes.  You  might 
think  of  the  box  of  ointment,  Dorothy.” 

“It ’s  a long  way  between  them  two  wastings.” 
“Perhaps.  I don’t  know.  We  shall  see.” 

“ Well,  I must  go  and  cook  Hiram’s  dinner.  Good- 
by.”  And  she  went  out  and  down  to  her  dugout. 

“ What  do  you  think  of  her,  Anne  ? ” said  Mrs.  Lynd- 
say, as  the  maiden  lady  came  out  of  her  own  room. 

“I  think  her  most  interesting,  and  altogether  a 
remarkable  person.” 


78 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“A  heart  of  gold!”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay.  “You 
cannot  imagine,  Anne,  what  that  woman  was  to  me 
last  summer.” 

“ I can, — I think  I can  now.”  Mrs.  Lyndsay  went 
back  to  some  household  occupation,  and  Anne,  re- 
turning to  her  hammock,  lay  thoughtfully  watching 
the  retreating  pirogue  and  its  capable  guide,  and 
smiling  ever  as  was  her  habit. 

Then  she  spoke  aloud : 

“That  beats  Marcus  Aurelius.  To  have  lost  all 
her  children,  to  have  had  sickness, — poverty,  and  not 
a wrinkle  to  record  it  all.  That  woman  must  have 
the  self-contentment  of  a first-class  angel.  Ah,  me ! ” 
And  she  turned  again  to  the  “Life  of  John,  Lord 
Lawrence,”  and  was  soon  smiling  over  it,  for  in  her 
heroic  lives  found  glad  and  ready  recognition. 


CHAPTER  VI 


HE  light  Gaspe  canoe  sped  away  up 
stream  close  to  the  shores,  with 
Archibald  Lyndsay  and  Rose.  They 
were  contentedly  quiet  for  an  hour 
or  more,  and  at  last  left  behind  them 
the  island  camp  and  its  white  tents, 
and  then  the  last  of  the  clearings  and  the  lower 
alluvial  meadows  with  their  richly  feathered  elms. 
As  they  went  on,  the  hills  were  more  abrupt  and 
closer  to  the  river,  or  precipitous  past  the  power  of 
the  hardiest  pines  to  find  more  than  here  and  there 
a foothold. 

And  now  Lyndsay  laughed,  and  Rose,  curious, 
inquired  why. 

“ I was  thinking  of  the  boys” ; and  he  told  her 
of  the  hornets’  nest. 

“ I don’t  think  the  dear  mother  will  like  it,”  said 
Rose. 

u Perhaps, — oh,  assuredly  not ; but  what  on  earth 
can  one  do  with  three  young  steam-engines  ? ” 

“It ’s  very,  very  dreadful,  papa,  and  do  not  tell; 
but  I would  like  to  be  present  at  the  siege  of  the 
hornets’  nest.  It  must  be  awfully  good  fun.” 

“What  was  that  you  said?” 

“I  said  awfully  good  fun.  And  also  I desire  to 
79 


80 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


add  that  this  is  my  day,  and  I shall  say  what  I please, 
do  what  I please,  talk  slang  and  bad  grammar  by  the 
yard  if  I want  to.” 

“As  you  like, — I make  but  one  condition:  there  is  to 
be  none  of  that  wading  into  deep  waters  of  which  you 
and  Anne  are  so  fond.  I get  enough  of  that  at  home, 
in  my  work.  This  is  to  be  a tree-and- water  day.  I 
want  to  push  on  first  up  to  the  burnt  lands.  Some 
twenty  years  ago  the  upper  country  was  burned  off, 
so  that,  between  the  hills  and  the  river  are  long 
abrupt  slopes  with  low  underbrush  and  millions  of 
dead  trees.  The  tops  of  the  hills  are  also  covered 
with  the  same  mighty  stubble.” 

“ But  that  cannot  be  beautiful.” 

“No  and  yes.  I fished  above  there  one  year,  and 
for  some  days  I found  the  desolation  most  oppressive. 
Then,  one  evening,  I saw  something  in  these  gray 
dead  trees,  and  ever  since  I have  seen  in  them  more 
and  more  that  is  strange  or  even  beautiful.” 

“ I think  I have  felt  like  that  at  times, — as  if  of  a 
sudden  I had  become  another  person,  and  saw  with 
strange  eyes.  Once  we  were  looking  at  Ruysdael’s 
pictures ; it  was  at  Amsterdam,  and  Aunt  Anne  said 
how  delightful  it  would  be  just  in  a moment  to  see 
the  world  of  things  as  a great  master  does,  or  the 
world  of  men  as  a poet  may.” 

“ What  spirit  made  me  his  own  I do  not  know,  my 
dear,”  said  Lyndsay ; “ but,  if  he  fled,  he  left  me  some 
permanent  property.  There  is  a bit  of  St.  Clair’s 
verse  which  puts  it  fairly.” 

“ And  it  is  — Pardy  t ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  81 

“ I think  I can  repeat  it,  but  I am  never  sure  about 
my  quotations : 

1 If  from  the  vantage  of  thy  wiser  heart 
I could  look  out  on  nature  through  thine  eyes, 

I think  that  I should  learn  a novel  art, 

And  joyful  capture  some  divine  surprise. 

The  tiny  morrow  of  the  opening  rose, 

With  kindred  comment  of  thy  genius  viewed, 

Might  to  love’s  wisdom  eagerly  disclose 
The  mystery  of  some  new  beatitude.’ 

Perhaps  you  will  like  my  dead  trees  at  first  sight.” 

“ I can  hardly  fancy  that.” 

“ Oh,  you  may.  The  afternoon  is  the  time  for  the 
water.  The  black  flies  are  pretty  thick,  Rose,  eh  ? ” 

u They  don’t  trouble  me,”  she  returned.  “ I can’t 
say  why.  They  bite,  and  that  is  all.” 

“ I never  could  account  for  the  exceptions,”  he  said. 
“ Ned  is  tormented  by  them,  and  they  hardly  touch 
Jack.” 

u How  curious  ! ” 

“Yes.  My  own  foes  are  the  sand-flies,  what  are 
called  by  the  Indians  ‘ no-see-ums,’  and  in  Pennsyl- 
vania pungies.  I brought  a little  smudge-pot  and  a 
small  A-tent,  just  to  give  you  shelter  at  need.”  Mean- 
while the  poles  rang  ceaselessly,  and  the  talk  went  on. 

“ I think,  Pardy,  the  landscape  under  the  water  is 
almost  as  attractive  as  that  above  it.  The  stones 
seem  to  be  all  colors,  and,  I suppose,  all  shapes,  be- 
cause they  play  such  queer  tricks  with  the  water. 
I never  noticed  until  yesterday  that  when  a wave 


82 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


rolls  over  a large,  smooth  rock  it  takes  perfectly  the 
form  of  a shell, — I think  I mean  a scallop-shell.” 

“That  is  so,  Rose.  There,  over  there,  is  an  ex- 
ample. I think  it  a very  pretty  idea, — one  might  be 
ingeniously  poetical  about  it,  but  one  won't.” 

By  and  by  the  stream  stretched  out  shallow  and 
broad,  and  the  men  took  their  paddles.  Then  they 
turned  a sharp  angle  of  the  river  and  came  among 
the  burnt  lands.  Here  and  there  a few  great  trees 
had  strangely  survived  the  fire,  and  towered  high, 
green  cones  among  the  ruin. 

“ I can  see  no  beauty  in  it,”  said  Rose. 

“ I said  it  was  strange,  interesting,  and  had  certain 
beauties.  Wait  a little.  Land  us  on  the  island, 
Tom, — at  the  upper  end.  There  will  be  more  air. 
There  is  a good  bit  of  grass  and  a spring  near  by.” 

Pretty  soon  the  tent  was  up,  and  the  smudge-pot, 
full  of  cedar  bark,  lighted.  There  was  some  wind, 
however,  and  the  flies  were  not  annoying. 

“ But  what  am  I to  sketch  ? ” 

“ Let  us  sit  in  the  opening  of  the  tent.  And  now, 
my  pipe.  Let  us  first  consider,  Rosy,  the  eccentrici- 
ties of  these  burnt  trees.  I want  a sketch  of  some 
of  them.” 

“Why  are  they  not  black?  I see  very  few  that 
are  charred.” 

“ Ask  Tom, — it  will  amuse  you.”  She  did  so. 

“ Them  trees,  when  there  's  a fire,  and  there  ain't 
too  many  pines  and  firs,  the  fire  it  just  eats  up  their 
leaves  and  scorches  their  hides.” 

“ Bark  ? ” 

“Yes ) and  the  winds  and  the  frost  and  the  sun, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


83 


they  peels  off  the  dead  hides.  After  that  them  trees 
lasts  powerful  long.  But  if  the  bark  be  on,  they 
rots.” 

“What  I want  just  now,  Rose,  is  to  get  you  to 
look  at  those  few  isolated  skeletons  of  dead  trees  on 
the  point.  There  are  many  as  odd  in  the  wood- 
tangle  below,  but  these  above  you  can  more  readily 
sketch  for  me,  because  they  stand  by  themselves. 
We  will  come  back  to  the  rest  by  and  by.” 

“ Oh,  my  dear,  dear  M.  A.,  what  a fine  master  you 
are  ! I used  to  long  for  you,  and  that  book  we  were 
to  write,  on  the  ‘Art  of  Seeing.5  ” 

“ Yes,  I have  taught  myself  to  see.  While  you  are 
sketching  I will  lecture  a little.” 

“And  just  what  do  you  wish  me  to  draw? ” 

“ Take  your  field-glass  and  look  at  the  trees  on  the 
point.  Now,  the  one  at  the  edge, — look  at  it  5 I do 
not  want  to  tell  you  about  it,  I want  you  to  see.” 
“Well,”  said  Rose,  talking  as  she  sat  in  the  tent- 
shadow,  the  glass  at  her  eyes,  “I  see  a tall  dead 
tree, — a fir  ? No,  a dead  spruce, — probably  a spruce, 
I am  not  sure.  It  is  gray,  and  has  only  two  great 
limbs  left,  and  a tuft  of  dead  twigs  above  — and  — 
the  trunk  is  oddly  twisted  to  the  left.” 

“Now  you  are  getting  warm,  as  the  children  say. 
Hey,  Rose  ? ” 

“ I see,”  she  cried,  with  a real  joy  in  her  mind ; 
and,  taking  her  pencil,  swiftly  drew  the  desolate 
dead  thing,  while  Lyndsay  looked  on. 

“ Good  ! ” he  said  ; “ very  good.  You  have  it  pre- 
cisely. I will  make  a word-sketch,  and  we  will  com- 
pare work.  I can’t  draw  a straight  line,  as  you  know. 


84 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


I conceive  of  the  other  world,  not  entirely  as  a place 
to  develop  our  own  qualities,  but  where  there  will  be 
a pleasant  interchange  of  capacities.  There,  my  dear, 
I shall  sing  like  Nilsson  and  paint  like  Velasquez.” 

“I  think  I could  myself  make  some  pleasant  ex- 
changes,” said  Rose.  “ Those  stiff  lines  of  the  dead 
branchless  firs  and  pines,  set  against  that  dark 
cloud, — they  remind  me  of  the  lances  in  that  great 
picture  by  Velasquez  at  Madrid, — the  Surrender  of 
Breda.  I loved  the  two  men  in  that  picture.  Reque- 
sens  is  taking  the  keys  of  the  town  from  Don  John 
of  Nassau,  and  he  is  just  saying,  ‘ Might  have  hap- 
pened to  any  fellow, — so  sorry  for  you P You  know, 
papa  ? ” 

“No,  I do  not.  But  I recall  Macbeth’s  etching 
of  the  picture.  Go  on  with  your  sketch.  Mine  will 
be  done  in  a few  minutes.” 

Then  he  wrote  in  his  note-book  again,  glancing 
now  and  then  at  the  tree. 

“ Listen,  Rose.  How  is  this  ? 6 Tree  sketch : dead 
tree;  no  bark;  cool  gray  all  over;  stands  alone  on 
point  of  land.  Trunk  twisted;  only  two  limbs; 
bunched  end-twigs.  Limbs  raised  like  arms.’  Now, 
if  — mind,  if  it  says  to  you  — I mean  if  it  has  for 
you  a distinct  expression  — I hate  affectation  here 
and  everywhere:  but  if  this  distorted  thing  really 
expresses  for  you  — something  — label  it!” 

Rose  was  still  a moment,  and  then  said,  “It  is 
rooted  there,  still,  alone.  It  seems  to  be  turning 
back  toward  its  fellows.  It  suggests  to  me  utter 
dreariness.  What  have  you  found  to  say  about  it, 
Pardy?” 


85 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ See,  dear,  I have  written,  as  I often  do  at  the  end 
of  a word-sketch : ‘ Loneliness,  suffering  5 isolated 
anguish,  if  you  like.’” 

“ I see.  How  very,  very  interesting ! It  seems  to 
remember  the  fire,  father.”  It  was  sometimes  this, 
and  sometimes  Pardy,  or  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  any 
queer  pet-name  of  nursery  origin. 

“ You  begin  to  see  what  one  may  get  out  of  a dead 
tree  ? ” 

“ Yes.  There  is  another,  below, — just  below.” 

“ Yes ; I sketched  it  last  year.  Here  it  is : ‘ Dead 
tree;  poplar;  split  by  lightning;  black  and  gray. 
The  lower  half  thrown  out  like  a leg.  Above,  one 
limb  has  fallen  against  the  trunk ; top  of  tree  tufted 
and  thrown  back.  Queer  expression  of  jollity/  Sketch 
it,  dear. 

“ How  ready  you  are  ! ” he  said,  over  her  shoulder. 
u Look  at  the  one  farther  away, — bent  back  with  two 
great  limbs  high  in  air.  It  is  prayer,  deprecation  — 
dread : I am  not  sure,  — and  again,  before  you  draw 
it,  look  across  to  the  other  side.  This  is  my  sketch. 
6 Late  twilight ; a huge,  gray  rock  in  the  water. 
Deep  cleft  in  it;  out  of  this  rises  a dead  pine.  It 
leans  toward  me.  Two  vast  limbs  extended  right 
and  left.  Top  tufted  as  usual,  and  bent  to  one  side. 
All  set  against  a bleak  mass  of  boulders/” 

u I see,  even  in  this  light ; but  at  dusk ! at  dusk 
it  must  be  terrible, — a crucifixion  ! ” 

“ Yes,  that  is  it.  It  recalls  to  me  an  odd  thing. 
A few  years  ago  I was  fishing  as  late  as  ten  o’clock 
at  night  on  the  Metapedia,  and,  looking  up,  saw  on 
the  hill  above  me  a cross  set  against  the  blood-red, 
6* 


86 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


newly  risen  moon.  Next  morning  I perceived  that  it 
was  only  a telegraph-pole  with  its  cross-bar.” 

“ What  a theme  for  Heine  ! ” said  Rose. 

“ Yes,  indeed.  Now  sketch  me  this,  and  the  other 
trees.  I want  only  jnst  mere  hints  of  form.  There 
are  no  end  of  strange  things  among  dead  trees.  I 
could  not  exhaust  them  in  hours  of  description. 
There  was  last  year  a fallen  tree  on  an  island  near 
our  camp.  I suppose  the  mass  of  stuff  sent  down  by 
freshets  protected  it  below,  and  the  ice  and  so  on  swept 
away  the  branches  which  lay  uppermost.  At  last  the 
wreckage  was  washed  off.  When  I came  on  it  at 
evening  it  looked  like  one  of  those  prehistoric  lizards 
Dicky  delights  in.  There  were  many  legs  on  each  side 
as  it  lay  and  — ” 

“Do  let  me  see,  Pardy.  You  drew  it?”  and  she 
laughed.  “ I don’t  think  it  would  go  into  the  Salon . 
There  ought  to  be  a place  for  embryo  art  like  this.” 

“ Like  ‘ Rejected  Addresses ’ ? ” 

“ Yes ; the  real  ones.” 

“ Do  you  frame  yours,  Rose  ? ” 

“ Oh,  for  shame ! ” 

“ Who  rose  to  that  fly  ? ” 

“ But  you  coldly  planned  it.  It  was  base.” 

“ Poor  thing ! ” he  laughed  — 

“The  wail  of  the  salmon 
A man  tried  to  gammon. 

Alas,  poor  Rose ! ” 

“Wait  a bit.  As  Jack  says,  ‘That  drawing  is 
unique.’  ” 

“ I am  quite  proud  of  it.  I wanted  to  give  you  the 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  87 

lesson.  Now  I will  smoke  and  talk  and  take  mine 
ease,  while  yon  draw.” 

u I can  talk  and  sketch,  too.” 

“ No  doubt.  On  the  Nipigon  River  there  is  a long 
carry  once  burned  over.  After  the  fire  must  have 
come  a windfall.  The  whole  blasted  forest  went  down 
before  it.  It  lies  to-day  a grim  tangle  of  gray  or  black 
trunks,  with  huge  agonized  arms  extended  upward. 
At  dusk  it  is  very  striking.  Years  went  by,  and  then 
I saw  the  dead  Confederates  lying  below  Round  Top 
the  day  after  the  fight,  with  arms  and  legs  in  rigid 
extension, — a most  horrible  memory.  As  I looked,  it 
recalled  that  wrecked  forest.” 

“ How  dreadful,  Pardy ! I think  I could  draw  those 
trees  as  you  describe  them.  I will  try  to-morrow.” 
Meanwhile,  as  she  sketched,  he  went  on : 

“ The  growth  of  power  to  see  is  a curiously  interest- 
ing thing.  There  is  a disease  or  disorder  called 1 mind- 
blindness/  about  which  the  doctor  was  telling  me  a 
few  weeks  ago.  People  who  have  it  see  things  only 
as  a mirror  sees,  and  cannot  give  them  names ; but  if 
they  touch  or  handle  them,  are  able  to  say  what  they 
are,  or  to  tell  their  uses.  Think,  now,  of  a baby.  It 
merely  sees  things  as  a mirror  sees.  Later,  it  learns 
the  qualities  of  things  seen,  remembers  them,  learns 
to  group  them,  and  so  to  say  at  last  what  the  thing 
is,  or  is  for.  Some  people  seem  to  stop  in  their  educa- 
tion a little  way  beyond  their  baby  gains,  and  at 
least  never  learn  to  get  out  of  mere  observation 
any  pleasure.” 

“ But  one  may  make  many  uses  of  this  power  to 
see.  Now,  the  poets  — ” 


88 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Stop  a moment.  The  poets  get  an  absurd  amount 
of  credit  for  being  able  to  see  as  other  men  do  not; 
but,  really,  the  pleasantest  people  for  a woodland 
walk  are  those  naturalists  who  see  far  more  than  the 
poet,  and  combine  with  their  science,  or  have  with  it, 
the  love  of  things  for  the  mere  beauty  in  them.  I 
never  did  walk  with  a poet  in  a wood.  I think  I 
should  see  all  he  saw.” 

“ But  not  the  same  way.” 

“ I would  dispute  that,  if  you  mean  to  say  I get  less 
pleasure,  Rose.  And  there  is  some  nonsense  in  the 
notion  that  poets  are  very  close  observers  of  nature. 
They  vary,  of  course.  Take  Wordsworth,  he  was  a 
mere  child  in  minute  observation  compared  to  Shak- 
spere.  Tennyson  is  better,  too, — oh,  by  far ; and  any 
clever  naturalist  sees  far  more  than  any  one  of  them.” 
u And  now,  I know,  Pardy,  you  are  going  to  advise 
me  to  read  Ruskin,  because  that  is  the  way  you  always 
used  to  wind  up  our  talks.” 

“ I was,  dear.” 

“ I must  try  him  again.  Aunt  Anne  says  we  grow 
up  to  the  stature  of  certain  books  as  we  get  older,  and 
at  last  can  look  them  in  the  eyes  and  say, 1 We  under- 
stand one  another/  As  to  what  you  say  of  Words- 
worth, I shall  ask  her  what  she  thinks.” 

“We  shall  not  differ,”  said  Lyndsay.  “I  see  you 
have  done  your  sketch.  Let  us  have  lunch.  After- 
ward, if  there  is  time,  we  can  take  a look  at  these 
trees  when  the  evening  shadows  are  falling.  We 
have  by  no  means  done  with  them.” 

Meanwhile  Tom  and  his  bowman  had  made  the  fire. 
The  salmon  was  deliciously  broiled,  for  these  wood- 


WEffiN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


89 


men  are  nearly  all  good  cooks ; the  potatoes  roasted 
in  the  hot  ashes  ; the  bacon,  broiled  with  the  salmon, 
in  thin  slices,  brown  and  crisp.  Rose  thought  there 
could  be  no  meal  like  this.  It  was  set  out  on  a flat 
rock,  with  birch-bark  for  plates.  The  spring  was  a 
little  way  back  of  them. 

“ Let  us  go  for  the  water  ourselves,”  said  Lyndsay. 

They  walked  down  the  island  a hundred  yards,  and 
there,  in  deep  woods,  found  two  rocks  fallen  together, 
and  under  them  a pretty  little  rise  of  water,  bubbling 
up  out  of  the  earth. 

“ That  is  really  a spring,”  said  Rose.  “ One  uses 
words  until  one  forgets  to  think  of  their  meaning. 
How  cold  it  is ! ” 

“ Yes  38°, — and  delicious.”  He  twisted  a bit  of  red 
birch-bark  into  a cup,  and  put  a split  twig  at  each  end 
to  keep  it  together.  Then  he  filled  it,  and  she  drank, 
throwing  her  hair  back  with  one  hand,  and  flashing 
laughter  over  the  brim  of  the  cup  from  eyes  the  color 
of  which  has  never  been  rightly  settled  to  this  day. 

“ More  lunch,  Rose  ? ” 

“A  little  jam  and  a biscuit.” 

Archibald  Lyndsay  lit  a pipe  and  lay  upon  his  back 
on  the  meager  grasses,  with  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head.  His  eyes  wandered  from  the  clouds  overhead 
to  Rose,  and  thence  to  wood  or  stream. 

“The  court  has  dined,  M.  A.,”  she  said.  “What 
now  ? ” 

“ I am  afraid,”  he  returned,  “ it  is  too  late  for  you 
to  sketch  in  colors  the  trees,  or  even  a bit  of  them. 
I wanted  to  get  your  notion  of  the  tints  ; but  look  at 
this  — I am  not  quite  sure  I myself  see  colors  at  their 


90 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


true  values.  There  is  no  standard  in  which  to  try 
our  sense  of  color.  I am  sure  some  men  see  a tint 
bright,  and  some  see  it  darker,  and  then  some  artists 
are  sensational  in  their  statement  of  colors  on  canvas.” 
“ I should  like  to  try.” 

“We  are  a little  too  late;  but  the  sun  is  back  of 
us  yet.  That  is  essential.  Now,  keep  in  shadow, 
and  tell  me  the  color  of  those  sun-lit  myriads  of  dead 
pine  and  fir  and  spruce  and  poplar.” 

“ How  they  shine  ! ” 

“Yes;  they  are  very  hard,  and  polished  by  storm 
and  sun.  They  are  about  a hundred  yards  distant. 
Near  by  they  are  silvery-gray.  At  their  feet  is  a 
mass  of  young  birch  and  beech,  and  feathered  ferns 
below,  along  the  margin.” 

“They  are  purple, — clear,  distinct  purple,”  said 
Rose.  “ Of  course,  they  are  purple.” 

“Yes.  Now  look  at  the  river.”  All  between  the 
two  observers  and  the  trees  was  a swift  flow  of 
hastening  water,  faintly  fretted  all  over  by  the  un- 
derlying brown  and  gray  and  white  stones  of  the 
bottom, — a tremulous  brown  mirror. 

“ Oh,  the  beautiful  things  ! ” cried  Rose.  “ Purple 
reflections, — deeper  purple  than  the  trees.  How  they 
wriggle  ! ” 

“ Put  me  the  two  purples  on  paper.” 

“ There  ! ” she  said,  “ that  is  as  I see  them.” 

“ And  I,”  he  returned, — “ for  me  they  should  be  a 
much  deeper,  purer  tint.  That  is  the  difference  be- 
tween your  color  sense  and  mine.” 

“ Is  it  true,  Pardy,  that  there  may  be  colors  no  man 
has  seen  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


91 


“ Yes.” 

u And  sounds  no  man  has  heard  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

u c Heard  sounds  are  sweet,  but  sounds  unheard  are 
sweeter.’  ” 

“Your  quotation  sets  one’s  imagination  free  to 
rove.  Think  of  extending  the  gamut  of  human 
thought.  I cannot  imagine  that;  and,  as  to  your 
poet,  he  did  not  mean,  I suppose,  the  sounds  man 
never  heard  are  sweeter ; but  then  one  has  his  free- 
dom of  interpreting  the  words  of  genius.  They  al- 
ways build  better  than  they  know.” 

“Aunt  Anne  says  that  is  so  beautifully  illustrated 
by  the  view  a man  of  science  would  take  to-day  of 
St.  Paul’s  words : 6 The  eye  cannot  say  to  the  hand, 
I have  no  need  of  thee.’  ” 

“ The  point  is  well  taken,  as  we  lawyers  say.  But 
that  must  do  for  to-day.  Come,  Tom,  you  and  Bill 
can  smoke  your  pipes  in  the  middle  of  the  skiff.  Put 
Miss  Rose  in  the  bow,  I will  take  the  stern.” 

“ And  am  I to  paddle  ? What  fun  ! ” 

“ Yes.  In  with  you.”  And  the  boat  fled  away  down 
the  swift  waters,  with  here  and  there,  where  the  bil- 
lows rolled  high  over  a deeply  hidden  rock,  a wild 
roller  which  swept  them  on  as  with  the  rush  of  a bird 
through  space,  while  Rose  laughed  out  the  joy  of  a 
great  delight,  for  of  all  modes  of  motion  this  is  the 
most  satisfying. 

“ It  is  n’t  difficult,”  she  said. 

“ No,  and  it  is  a noble  exercise.  Look ! Look,  Rose ! 
See  that  hawk, — no,  it  is  an  eagle.  Don’t  you  envy 
him  ? What  are  those  lines  Anne  loves  to  quote  about 


92 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


the  hawk  and  the  lark  ? They  are  called  ‘ True  Cap- 
tivity.' » 

“ I forget  all  but  the  last  two  lines.  It  contrasts 
the  two  prisoners,  and  says  of  the  lark  : 

‘He  has  the  heaven  which  he  sings, 

But  my  poor  hawk  has  only  wings.'” 

“ Thank  you.  There  used  to  be  an  imprisoned  hawk 
in  a cage  at  the  lower  clearing.  The  melancholy  of 
his  great  yellow  eyes  so  troubled  me  that  I bought 
him,  and,  to  Churchman's  amazement,  opened  his 
cage.  The  poor  old  warrior  walked  out,  looked 
around  him,  and  then  walked  back  again  into  volun- 
tary captivity." 

“ Like  the  man  of  the  Bastille." 

“Yes.  I shut  the  cage  and  took  it  down  to  the 
river.  There  I left  it,  open.  Next  day  I saw  him 
perched  above  it  on  a dead  tamarack,  swinging  in  a 
wild  wind.  The  day  after  he  was  gone." 

“ I wonder  if  he  regrets  the  cage  and  the  certainty 
of  full  diet." 

“ Ah ! liberty  is  very  sweet.  I sometimes  wonder 
whether,  when  this  earthly  cage  is  opened,  we  shall 
linger  about  it  like  my  hawk." 

For  a time  they  speed  onward,  silent,  as  the  shadows 
grew  across  the  waters.  Said  Lyndsay,  at  length: 
“ One  more  thing  to  note : the  sun  is  down,  but  see 
how  that  huge  array  of  gleaming,  seried  tree-trunks, 
away  up  on  the  hilltops,  takes  the  light  we  have  lost." 

Rose  looked,  and  saw  on  the  far  summits  that  the 
multitudinous  tree-stems  were  of  a lovely  lemon  yel- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


93 


low,  and  below,  where  their  lines  crossed  at  the  inter- 
cepting angles  of  two  slopes,  of  a pallid  lilac. 

“ I think  we  have  learned  to  use  our  eyes  to-day. 
No  need  to  paddle  here.  Take  a rest.  We  are  going 
at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour.” 

In  the  gathering  dusk  they  flitted  past  the  camp- 
fires on  the  island,  and  soon  were  at  their  cabin  door. 

“ Shall  I ever  have  another  day  like  this?”  said 
Rose,  as  she  ran  up  the  steps.  “ Thank  you,  Pardy.” 


CHAPTER  VII 


jHEN  they  entered  the  cabin,  Dick 
was  diligently  counting  a beetle’s 
legs, — a process  the  animal  seemed 
to  resent.  Ned,  at  a window,  was 
staring  at  the  falling  shadows  on 
the  farther  hills,  and  Jack,  at  the 
door,  was  deep  in  a gruesome  book  of  adventures  by 
sea  and  land. 

The  boys  rose  as  Lyndsay  entered. 

“Gracious!”  exclaimed  Rose,  observing  their  swol- 
len faces.  “You  have  not  gotten  off  without  honora- 
ble wounds.”  Jack’s  face  was  a testimonial  of  valor. 
“ You  seem  to  have  found  it  lively.” 

“ It  was  galumptious.” 

“ What  ? ” cried  Rose. 

“ Oh,  I was  n’t  going  to  run.  Those  fellows,  they 
ran.  I think  they  ’re  — ” 

“ What  ? ” broke  in  Dick. 

“None  of  that,”  said  Lyndsay.  “I  suppose  the 
hornets  did  not  have  a very  pleasing  time.” 

“ They  licked  us,”  said  Ned. 

“ That ’s  because  — ” 

“Hush,”  said  Lyndsay,  laughing.  “I  presume 
there  are  enough  left  for  another  time  ? ” 

“ Archie,  how  could  you  ? ” said  Mrs.  Lyndsay.  “ I 
shall  be  glad  to  get  these  boys  home  alive.” 

94 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


95 


“ Oh,  we  are  all  right,”  cried  the  twins ; and  they 
went  gaily  to  supper,  and  before  long  to  bed. 

When  Rose  got  up  next  day  it  was  raining ; the  sky 
gray,  and  the  waters  inky  black.  She  was  reassured 
at  breakfast  by  her  father,  and  told  to  get  her  water- 
proof and  high  boots,  and  be  ready  for  a salmon  after 
breakfast.  Again  Miss  Anne  was  on  hand,  declaring 
that  she  had  not  felt  as  well  for  a year,  and  they  fell 
to  planning  their  day’s  amusements.  The  squirrels 
tempted  Jack  and  his  gun.  Dick  and  Ned  were  to 
fish  the  upper  pool,  and  Anne  and  the  mother,  as  they 
desired,  were  to  be  left  to  their  own  devices. 

“ But,  Rose,”  said  the  latter,  “ you  must  see  Mrs. 
Maybrook.” 

“If  we  get  any  salmon,  I might  take  her  one,  or 
one  of  the  men  might  carry  it  this  afternoon.  I am 
very  curious  about  this  paragon.  I don’t  believe 
much  in  perfection,  mama.” 

“I  did  not  say  she  was  that,  Rose.  Dorothy  May- 
brook  is  my  friend.” 

“ Is  n’t  that  putting  it  rather  strongly,  mama  ? A 
woman  in  her  class  of  life  can  scarcely  — ” 

“ Nevertheless,  she  is  my  friend.” 

“ That  answers  all  questions,”  said  Lyndsay. 

“No,”  said  Anne,  “not  until  one  knows  your  defini- 
tion of  friend.  What  is  a friend  ? ” 

“A  fellow  that  will  fight  for  you,”  said  Jack. 

“Then  Sullivan  or  the  1 Tipton  Slasher’  would  be 
the  best  friend,”  remarked  Ned. 

“ A fellow  you  like,”  said  Dick. 

“How  is  it,  Ned?”  said  Lyndsay.  “What  is  a 
friend  ? ” 


96 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


"I  don’t  know/7  replied  Ned,  coloring  as  usual.  “I 
would  want  a lot  of  them.77 

“ There  is  something  in  that/7  said  Anne.  “ I never 
found  any  one  human  being  who,  at  all  times  and 
under  all  stress  of  needs,  was  able  to  give  me  every- 
thing I want  of  man  or  woman.77 

“ I think  with  you,  Anne/7  returned  Lyndsay.  “ I 
never  could  quite  comprehend  those  all-satisfying 
alliances  one  reads  about,  those  friend-love  affairs, 
such  as  Shakspere  had  with  Herbert,  or  whoever  it 
was.  Certainly  some  men,  and  not  always  those  who 
have  most  to  give,  intellectually,  at  least,  have,  as  was 
said  of  a dead  friend  of  mine,  a genius  for  friendship. 
"Wherever  he  went,  men  became  attached  to  him, — 
they  could  hardly  say  why.77 

“ How  do  you  explain  it  ? 77  said  Rose. 

“He  was  quick  of  temper,  cultivated,  but  not  a 
profound  man, — unselfish.  I think  it  must  have 
been  chiefly  because  he  took  a large  and  unfailing 
interest  in  other  men7s  pursuits,  and  was  not  troubled 
if  they  made  no  return  in  kind.  He  gave  interest 
and  affection,  being  easily  pleased,  and  exacted  no 
return.  But  it  always  came.77 

“ I should  have  said  he  had  a talent  for  friendship. 
Genius  is  a large  word/7  said  Anne. 

“Yes;  it  was  only  an  unusual  capacity,— not 
genius.77 

“ But  what  is  genius  ¥ 77  said  Rose. 

“You  are  getting  out  of  my  depth!77  cried  Mrs. 
Lyndsay,  laughing.  “I  shall  want  a life-preserver 
pretty  soon,  Archie.77 

“ I can  only  quote  Marcus  Aurelius/7  said  Lyndsay. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


97 


“He  remarks  — what  is  it  he  says  about  genius, 
Anne  ? 77 

“No,  no.  We  want  something  fresh,  Pardy.77 

“A  fine  way  to  clap  an  extinguisher  on  wisdom.77 

“ But  I want  — I do  want  an  answer.77 

“ Shall  we  say  that  genius  is  crude  creative  power  ? 
How  will  that  do  1 77 

“ That  is  better  than  usual,  Aurelius,77  cried  Anne. 
“ It  needs  talent  to  come  to  anything.  It  would  be 
easy  to  illustrate.  There  is  Blake  at  one  end,  and  — 
well  — Shakspere  at  the  other.77 

“May  we  go?77  said  Jack,  yawning  fearfully. 

“ Yes,  of  course.  What  a sight  you  are ! 77 

“ They  must  have  been  good  shots.77 

“ Oh,  they  did  well,77  said  Ned,  “ and  it  was  worse 
than  bullets.  They  don7t  get  inside  your  pantaloons 
and  skirmish  aroundc  1 7m  very  uncomfortable  when 
I sit  down.77 

“ How  can  one  die  better,  etc.  ? 77  cried  Dick,  and, 
riotously  laughing,  they  ran  out  of  doors.  Margaret 
looked  after  them  affectionately. 

“ Do  you  remember,  Archie,  how  you  used  to  have 
an  unending  tale  for  those  boys  when  they  were  little, 
of  Tommy  Turnip,  and  how  he  ran  away,  and  went 
to  Russia,  and  was  made  Count  Turnipsky?77 

“I  do,  indeed,  my  dear.  It  went  on  for  years. 
Come,  Rose,  I sha7n7t  rest  until  you  have  killed  a 
salmon.  If  it  rains  hard  all  day  the  water  will  rise, 
and  then  good-by  salmon  until  it  begins  to  fall.77 

“ Is  that  so  ? 77 

“ Yes.  The  salmon  is  a mysterious  creature.  We 
know  little  about  him;  but  we  do  know  that  with 
1 


98 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


rising  water,  or  rapidly  rising  warmth  of  water,  he 
seems  to  lose  curiosity  as  to  flies.  Come  along.” 

1 1 think  my  own  curiosity  collapses  in  hot  weather,” 
said  Anne. 

There  was  now  a steady  fall  of  rain,  but,  well  pro- 
tected, they  reached  the  pool. 

“ How  black  the  water  is ! ” said  Rose.  Tom  sat 
quiet  without  the  least  cover,  and  took  the  ducking 
as  if  it  were  a matter  of  course.  Now  he  adjusted  a 
rather  large  Jock  Scott.  Then  Rose  began  to  cast, 
while  Lyndsay  sat  behind  her  and  smoked. 

“ Could  n’t  I stand  ? ” she  said. 

“Yes.  You  will  cast  better,  and  take  care  you 
don’t  catch  the  handle  of  the  reel  in  your  wraps. 
Give  the  back  cast  a little  more  time.  Count  one, 
two,  three  quickly.  You  do  very  well.  You  will 
soon  get  the  trick  of  it.” 

“You  riz  him!”  roared  Tom,  for  there  was  a 
mighty  swash,  and  half  a salmon  came  into  view. 
“ Sit  down.  Wait  a little.” 

“ Will  he — clo  you  think  he  will  rise  again  ?” 

“ If  I knew,  dear,  it  would  save  much  needless  cast- 
ing. Will  a young  man  propose  twice,  thrice  ? Who 
can  say  ? ” 

“ I fail,  sir,  to  perceive  the  analogy.” 

“ My  dear  Rose,  the  too  logical  mind  is  destructive 
of  the  very  foundations  of  social  gaiety.  Young 
man  rises  to  a fly;  salmon  rises  to  a fly.” 

“ But  no  right-minded  woman  casts  a fly  over.  Oh, 
they  just — you  know.” 

“ No,  I don’t.  Both  the  fish  and  the  man  have  the 
right  of  choice;  but  there  is  some  responsibility  as 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


99 


to  the  attractiveness  of  a Jock  Scott,  or  a Durham 
fanger.  So,  after  all,  the  young  man’s  anguish  may 
be  the  fault  of  the  wicked  milliner.  As  a question  of 
morals  one  likes  to  know.” 

“ But  will  he — will  he  come  back  ?” 

“ Really,  Rose,  that  was  worthy  of  Sarah  Siddons. 
It  might  have  been  said  of  the  most  attractive  of 
my  sex.” 

“ Bother  the  men,  papa ; I want  my  fish.  What  is 
a man  to  a salmon ! ” 

“ I recognize  that  assertion  of  personal  ownership 
as  distinctively  feminine.” 

“ You  are  too  bad.  How  it  pours  ! ” 
u rpry  again>  Cast  out  to  right,  and  let  the  fly 
come  down,  around  the  tail  of  the  boat,  with  not  too 
much  movement,  just  as  if  you  were  quite  indifferent ; 
an  ordinary,  every-day  promenade,  my  dear.  The 
application  is,  you  see,  of  skill  acquired  in  one  branch 
of  industry  to  the  cultivation  of  another.” 

Of  a sudden  the  reel  ran  out  a little. 

“ Poor  young  man ! Sit  down.  Keep  the  tip  up,  so.” 
The  fly  had  been  tranquilly  taken  under  water,  this 
time  with  no  show  of  indecision.  Rose  obeyed  the 
advice,  and  for  a moment  sat  expectant,  the  rod  well 
bent.  The  delay  on  the  part  of  the  salmon  was  so 
great  that  she  could  not  understand  it. 

“ It  must  be  fast  on  something.  It  does  n’t  move.” 
“ No,  the  young  man  is  n’t  quite  sure  as  to  what  is 
the  matter.  He  is  reflecting.  Are  Cupid’s  arrows 
barbed,  my  dear  ? There  ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” — for  the  reel  ran  out  so  fast  as  to  make  a 
distinct  musical  note,  and,  in  a moment,  Rose  saw 


100  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

the  salmon  flash  high  in  the  air  near  the  farther  bank. 

“ That  can't  be  my  young  man." 

“ Yes.  Reel,  reel  quick." 

Meanwhile  it  was  up  anchor  and  away,  the  instant 
the  fish  struck.  The  men  shared  Rose's  excitement, 
and  watched  the  quick  movements  of  the  fish  with 
admirable  understanding  of  when  to  wait  or  to  follow. 
The  rapid  reeling  in  Rose  found  hard  work. 

“ I do  think  you  must  take  the  rod,"  she  said. 

“No,"  he  cried,  laughing.  “I  prefer  not  to  have 
the  responsibility  of  other  folks'  flirtations.  He  won't 
carry  on  this  way  very  long." 

But  again  he  was  off,  and  this  time  not  so  far. 
Then  he  leaped  twice,  with  mighty  splashings  of  the 
water.  Meanwhile  Tom  was  carefully  getting  his 
canoe  out  of  the  heavy  current,  and  Rose  found  that 
the  salmon  was  slowly  yielding  to  the  steady  strain 
of  the  rod.  They  were  now  near  the  bank,  and  in  an 
eddy. 

“Look  sharp,  Rose,"  said  Mr.  Lyndsay.  “Give 
him  the  butt." 

“What?" 

“Yes.  Keep  the  tip  back  and  the  butt  forward. 
As  the  fish  yields  reel  in  a little,  dropping  the  tip. 
That 's  right.  Now,  you  can  lift  him,  as  it  were,  by 
throwing  the  butt  forward  again,  so*  Reel!  reel! 
Well  handled." 

“ He 's  a-comin',"  said  Tom.  “ He  are  a buster." 

She  could  but  just  perceive  her  fish,— a dark,  sha- 
dowy thing, — a few  feet  away.  Now  he  sees  the  man 
with  his  gaff,  and  is  off  on  a short  run ; and  again  is 
slowly  reeled  in. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  101 


“ Something  must  break,”  said  Rose. 

“No,  you  can't  pull  more  than  two  pounds,  my 
dear,  do  as  you  may.  It  seems  to  you  a vast  strain. 
There,  keep  his  head  up-stream.  Well  done.  Let 
him  drop  back  a little.” 

As  he  spoke,  Tom  made  a quick  movement  and 
gaffed  his  fish.  In  a moment  it  was  in  the  boat,  and 
Rose  sank  back  delighted. 

“ Here  is  the  scale,  Tom.” 

Tom  held  up  the  fish,  with  the  scale-hook  in  the 
gill-cover. 

“ Thir  — ty  — two  — pounds,  miss.” 

“ Do  let  me  see,”  she  said,  and  examined  her  captive 
with  curiosity. 

“A  fine  young  man,  by  the  neb  of  his  lower  jaw,” 
said  her  father.  “You  don't  like  the  gaffing:  I saw 
that.  Be  assured  that  lingering  hours  of  slow  exhaus- 
tion in  the  nets  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  are  far  worsec 
You  could  let  the  fish  go;  you  could  refrain  from 
fishing ; you  need  not  eat  salmon ; several  ways  are 
open  to  the  sensitive.” 

“ I am  very  foolish,  I dare  say.” 

“There  is  some  folly  that  is  nearer  heaven  than 
some  wisdom,  my  child.  If  this  folly  is  incapable  of 
reasoning  defense,  it  is  still  not  one  to  be  ashamed  of. 
We  may  over-cultivate  our  sensibilities  so  as,  at  last, 
to  become  Brahminical  in  our  abhorrence  of  any  de- 
struction of  life.  The  argument  as  to  need  for  ani- 
mal flesh  is  hardly  a help.  Men,  in  fact,  nations,  live 
without  it;  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  we  have  in 
time  more  or  less  manufactured  both  the  appetite  and 
the  need  for  this  diet.  Our  nearest  anatomical  kins- 


T 


102  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

men,  the  monkeys,  are  all  vegetarians,  and  as  for  any 
necessity  to  kill  salmon  or  deer,  there  is  nowadays 
none.  Both  are  mere  luxuries  of  the  rich.  Not  a 
soul  on  these  rivers  ever  gets  a salmon,  unless  he 
poaches  or  we  give  it  to  him.” 

“ Is  n’t  that  hard  ? ” 

“ Yes  and  no.  Throw  it  all  open,  and  in  five  years 
there  would  be  no  salmon.  They  would  go  as  the 
buffalo  have  gone.” 

“ And  still  I am  sorry  for  the  people  who  cannot 
fish;  the  eating  is  another  matter.” 

“ Their  fishing,  dear,  would  be  the  mere  use  of  a 
net.  But  there  is  another  point  of  view.  We  leave 
more  money  on  these  rivers,  are  of  more  real  use  to 
these  boatmen  and  farmers,  than  all  the  salmon  they 
might  take  could  possibly  be.” 

“ How  difficult  all  life  seems ! There  are  so  many 
questions.” 

“Fish,  my  dear,  in  peace  of  soul.  By  Thor,  you 
have  a grilse  ! ” he  cried.  For  now  she  was  fast  to  a 
fish  of  some  six  pounds,  which  was  in  and  out  of 
water  every  minute,  and,  being  too  small  to  gaff,  was 
beached  by  a quick  run  up  a sandy  shore  of  the  well- 
drenched  fisherwoman.  While  Tom  was  weighing 
the  fish,  Rose  learned  that  a grilse  was  a young 
salmon,  and  what  a parr  was,  and  a smolt,  and  a kelt, 
and  how  a grilse  was  known  by  the  forked  tail  and 
the  small  scales. 

“A  good  un  to  smoke,”  said  Tom.  “We  split  ’em, 
miss,  and  salt  ’em  pretty  well,  and  then  hold  ’em  open 
like  with  two  sticks,  and  hangs  ’em  over  a right 
smoky  fire  for  a matter  of  four  or  five  days.  Some 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


103 


makes  a wigwam  of  bark  and  smokes  ’em  in  that,  but 
it  ain’t  needed  unless  you  want  ’em  to  keep  long. 
Them  they  sells  is  all  dried  stiff  and  hard.  These 
here,  just  dried  gentle,  why  they  ’re  as  fine-flavored 
as  — as  — angels,  or  a chicken  porkenpine.” 

“A  smoked  angel ! ” laughed  Rose.  “ I am  horribly 
wet,  but  I must  kill  another  salmon.”  Her  hope  was 
realized,  and,  after  an  hour  of  hard  casting,  a twenty- 
pound  fish  was  brought  to  gaff  in  some  twelve 
minutes. 

“ Very  good  time,  Rosy.  I used  to  think  no  man 
ought  to  be  over  a hal,f-hour  in  killing  the  strongest 
salmon.  But  the  charm  of  the  game  lies  in  the  amaz- 
ing individuality  of  the  fish.  No  one  of  them  ever 
does  just  what  any  other  does.  Once  I was  two 
hours  with  a salmon,  and  you  may  have  the  like  luck.” 

“ I should  perish  of  fatigue.” 

“ What  would  you  think  of  killing  ninety-two  and 
six  grilse  in  five  days?  I once  killed  forty-two 
striped  bass  in  twenty-four  hours,  but  these  are 
bonanzas.  Run  the  boat  up  and  empty  her,”  he 
added  to  Tom.  As  they  stood,  the  rain  continued 
falling  more  and  more  heavily  through  a perfectly 
still  atmosphere. 

“ Kind  of  falls,”  said  Tom. 

“ Did  it  ever  rain  harder  ? ” said  Rose. 

“Yes,  miss 5 there  are  a spot  up  nigh  back  of 
Thunder  Bay  — that ’s  to  north  of  Lake  Superior  — 
and  there  it  do  rain  in  July  — solid.” 

“ Solid  ? ” said  Lyndsay. 

“ I said  solid.  Folks  moves  out  for  a month,  other- 
wise they  is  drownded  standin’.” 


104  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“That  is  a trapper’s  tale,  Rose.  I have  heard  it 
before.” 

“It  is  near  enough  here  to  being  solid  to  enable 
me  to  believe  the  rest.  How  the  boughs  leap  every 
now  and  then  as  they  drop  their  loads  of  rain,  and 
how  slate-blue  and  opaque  the  water  is ! ” 

“Notice  these  great  drops:  each  rebounds  from 
the  surface  in  a little  column,  so  as  to  seem  like  black 
spikes  in  the  water.  See,  too,  how  the  circles  they 
make  cross  one  another  without  breaking.  Smoke 
rings  do  that,”  and  he  blew  successive  circlets  of  his 
pipe-smoke,  as  he  spoke,  so  that  they  passed  across 
one  another,  breaking  and  remaking  their  rolling 
rings. 

“ Why  is  that  ? ” she  said. 

“ I do  not  know.  I hardly  care  to  ask.  I am  in 
the  mood  of  mere  acceptance.  Oh,  there  is  the  sun, 
Rose ! See  how  between  the  finger-like  needles  of 
the  pine  the  drops  are  held,  and  what  splendid  jew- 
elry the  sun  is  making.  It  needs  a still  hour  for  this. 
You  have  seen  a thing  in  its  perfection  quite  rare.” 

“ Must  we  go,  Pardy  ? It  has  done  raining.” 

“Yes,  we  must  go.  I forgot  to  ask  you  to  listen 
to  the  different  noises  a heavy  rain  makes  according 
as  you  stand  under  pine  or  spruce,  or  hear  it  patter 
on  the  flat-lying,  deciduous  leaves,  or  hum  on  the 
water.  Come,  you  must  take  the  twenty-pounder  to 
Dorothy  Maybrook.  If  it  is  not  too  wet,  she  will 
perhaps  walk  up  to  Colkett’s  with  you.  But  don’t 
go  into  the  cabin.  You  might  take  for  those  poor 
people  two  or  three  cans  of  corned  beef.  Meats  are 
scarce  luxuries  with  them.  They  will  need  no  money 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  105 


just  at  present.  Mr.  Caringtou  gave  them  some 
help.” 

“Did  he?” 

“ Yes.  The  child  is  to  be  buried  to-morrow,  I hear.” 
“Is  Mr.  Carington  the  young  man  who  shot  the 
seal  ? ” 

“ I suppose  so, — yes.  Why  do  you  ask  ? ” 

“ Oh,  nothing.  Idlest  curiosity.  Pure  curiosity 
unstained  by  the  coarseness  of  a motive.” 

“ I am  answered,”  he  said,  laughing. 

They  were  soon  at  home. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


|FTER  Rose  and  her  father  had  made 
their  brief  toilets,  they  found  the  fam- 
ily at  luncheon. 

“ I was  wet  to  the  skin,  and 
through  it,  I believe,”  said  Rose. 
“No,  I sha’n’t  take  cold,  mama. 
Nobody  takes  cold  here.  Tom  must  be  wet  through 
to  his  bones — absolutely  water-logged.” 

“ The  boys  were  a-drip  like  water-rats,”  said  Mrs. 
Lyndsay.  “I  am  sure  some  of  you  will  have  pneu- 
monia.” 

“But  I got  an  eighteen-and-a-half-pound  salmon,” 
cried  Jack. 

“ He ’s  had  him  in  his  lap  for  an  hour,  like  a baby,” 
said  Dick. 

“ That  is  capable  of  olfactory  demonstration,”  re- 
marked Anne. 

“ He  ’ll  get  that  salmon  framed,”  cried  Dick.  “ Such 
a fuss  — ” 

“ Did  you  get  any,  sir  ? ” asked  his  father. 

“No.” 


“Are  you  sorry  Jack  did?” 

“No,  I am  not  that  mean,”  returned  the  boy,  flush- 
ing. “ Ned  he  caught  it,  and  he  let  Jack  bring  it  in. 

Jack  wanted  it  so  very  bad.” 

106 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  107 


“ Badly,  sir  ? ” 

“ Badly.7’ 

“And  it  was  Ned7s  fish,  after  all” 

As  he  spoke,  Lyndsay  nodded  gently,  smiling  at  the 
youngest  son,  and  no  more  was  said ; but  the  boys 
understood  well  enough  that  neither  the  selfishness 
nor  the  self-denial  had  gone  unnoticed.  This  was 
made  more  plain  when  Mr.  Lyndsay  said: 

“ I shall  fish  the  upper  pool  to-morrow  morning  — 
or,  rather,  you  may,  Ned,  for  I have  letters  to  write.” 
“And  Jack  and  Dick?”  said  Ned. 

“ Those  other  fellows  may  slay  trout.”  He  disliked 
even  the  approach  to  tale-telling  by  his  boys,  and 
when  Mrs.  Lyndsay  made  an  appeal,  in  her  mild  way, 
he  said,  laughing : 

“ The  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  were  never 
changed.  Let  it  rest  there.  My  barbarians  under- 
stand me,  I fancy.” 

There  was  a little  silence,  which  Rose  broke. 

“ What  is  that  in  the  glass,  Dick,  on  the  window- 
ledge  ? 77 

“ What  Pierre  calls  a lamprey 0 It  is  the  very  lowest 
of  vertebrates.  It  has  only  a cartilaginous  skeleton.” 
“ Must  be  an  awful  learned  beast,”  said  Ned. 

“ It  holds  on  to  the  side  of  the  salmon,  Rosy.” 
“Just  like  a fellow  outside  of  an  omnibus,77  said 
Dick. 

“ What  a queer  thing  ! 77  and  Rose  got  up  to  look  at 
it.  “ I wonder  if  the  salmon  likes  it.  A parasite ! ” 

“ Which  proves,”  laughed  Anne,  “ that  even  a para- 
site is  capable  of  attachment.  The  obligation  is  all  on 
one  side.” 


108  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Literally,”  said  Lyndsay. 

“Archie,  you  are  worse  than  Mr.  B.,”  said  Anne. 
“ If  you  say  anything  clever,  he  begins  to  dissect  it 
for  the  benefit  of  all  concerned.  The  application  of 
anatomy  to  humor  is  one  of  the  lowest  of  social  pur- 
suits. I loathe  that  man.” 

“You  don’t  really  loathe  any  one,  aunty.” 

“ If  you  do  not,”  said  Margaret,  “ it  is  a pity  to  say 
that  sort  of  thing.” 

“ But  I do  loathe  the  man — I do;  I do.  I am  honest. 
He  has  every  quality  of  what  Dick  tenderly  calls  a 
G.  I.  P.,  except  the  probability  of  ultimate  usefulness.” 

“Reasonably  complete  that,”  said  Lyndsay,  while 
Jack  grinned  his  appreciation. 

“He  is  a clergyman,  Anne,”  remarked  Margaret, 
with  emphasis. 

“That  only  makes  it  worse.  I have  heard  him 
preach.  Don’t  you  think  a man  who  has  no  humor 
must  be  a bad  man  ? ” 

“Anne ! ” 

“One  moment,  dear.  Let  me  finish  him.  I was 
going  to  say,  Archie,  that  if  a mule  was  to  kick 
that  man  just  for  fun,  he  would  never  know  he 
was  kicked.” 

“ That  covers  the  ground.  You  should  have  edited 
a newspaper,  Anne.  Such  vituperative  qualities  are 
wasted  here.” 

“ Indeed,  I think  so,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  rising  at 
the  end  of  her  luncheon.  “ It  may  amuse  you,  Archie, 
but  for  the  boys  it  is  bad,  dear,  bad.” 

Upon  this  the  twins,  enchanted  to  hear  of  wicked- 
ness, became  critically  attentive  to  the  matter,  and  for 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  109 


a moment  refrained  from  their  diet.  Anne,  a little 
vexed,  smiled  as  her  sister-in-law  stood  opposite,  but 
made  no  other  reply. 

“ I dare  say  it  amuses  you,  my  dear  Anne.” 

“ It  does.” 

“But  should  it,  dear,  and  at  the  cost  of  tempta- 
tion to  others?  Go  out,  boys.”  The  twins  went  forth 
merry.  “And  — and,  dear,  don’t  you  think  — ? ” 

Between  question  and  answer  Lyndsay  made  swift 
retreat,  with  an  explanatory  cigar-case  in  his  hand. 

“Yes,  I think,  Margaret”;  and  then,  the  gray  eyes 
lighting  up,  “ I think,  Margaret,  that  you  do  not  al- 
ways think.  If  you  did,  you  would  criticize  that 
wicked  Archie.” 

“Archie ! Archie ! What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I admit  your  premise.  Homicide  applied  to  char- 
acter is  bad  enough ; but  don’t  you  think  that  Archie 
ought  to  give  up  killing  salmon  ? ” 

“What?” 

“ You  see  it  teaches  the  boys  to  be  cruel.  It  is  the 
sad  beginning  of  murder.  There  is  only  a difference 
of  degree  in  it.  Suppose,  now,  a man  kills  a monkey, 
and  then — you  follow  me,  dear — and  then  — oh,  do 
come  here,  Rose  — and  then  he  gets  a shot  somewhere 
in  Africa  at  the  missing  link.  You  see  where  killing 
salmon  lands  you  at  last.  Where  shall  we  draw  the 
line?” 

Rose  laughed,  despite  her  mother’s  face  of  puzzled 
yet  obstinate  gravity. 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Anne  ? ” 

Anne  rarely  argued  seriously  with  this  sister-in-law, 
who,  despite  their  differences,  was  very  dear  to  her. 


110  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


Her  delight  was,  like  the  cuttle-fish,  so  to  obscure  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  a discussion  with  mistiness  of 
vague  analogy  as  to  enable  her  to  retreat  with  honor. 

“ Good  gracious ! ” Margaret  went  on,  fanning  her- 
self violently,  as  she  did  in  all  weather,  and  amuse- 
ingly  indicating  by  her  use  of  the  fan  her  own  moods, 
“ what  did  I say  to  bring  out  all  this  nonsense?  I 
think  I — yes — what  was  it,  Rose?” 

Any  one’s  irritation,  of  which  she  herself  seemed  to 
be  the  cause,  troubled  the  little  lady,  especially  if 
Anne  were  the  person  involved.  Nevertheless,  no  ex- 
perience sufficed  quite  to  keep  Mrs.  Lyndsay  out  of 
these  risks  when  her  motherly  instincts  were  in  action. 

Rose  smiled,  as  she  replied : 

“Dear  little  mother,  Aunt  Anne  objects  to  your 
criticism  of  her  form  of  sport,  and  the  naughty  aunty 
is  raising  a dust  of  words,  in  which  she  will  scuttle 
away.”  As  she  spoke  she  cast  a loving  arm  around  her 
mother,  and  one  on  her  aunt’s  thin  shoulders.  But 
Margaret  Lyndsay  had  the  persistency  of  all  instinctive 
beings. 

“ I think  it  bad  for  the  boys.  I always  shall  think 
it  bad.  Dick  is  now  too  fond  of  ridiculing  serious 
things,  and  they  think  whatever  you  do  is  right,  and 
whatever  you  say  they  think  delightful.  As  for 
Ned—” 

“ Ned  ! my  Ned ! That  boy  is  an  angel.  I won’t 
have  a word  — ” 

“As  if  I did  not  know  it ! ” said  Margaret,  with  the 
nearest  approach  to  wrath  of  which  she  was  capable. 
“ Really,  Anne  Lyndsay,  may  I not  even  praise  my 
own  boys  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  111 


“ I think,  my  dear  Margaret,  you  lack  imagina- 
tion,” said  Anne.  Like  a great  algebraist,  who  is  apt 
to  skip  in  his  statements  a long  series  of  equations, 
she  was  given  to  omitting  the  logical  steps  by  which 
her  swift  reason  passed  to  a conclusion  satisfactorily 
true  for  her,  but  obscure  enough  to  her  hearers. 

“ I don’t  understand,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay. 

“Nor  I,”  echoed  Rose. 

“ My  dears,”  said  Anne,  smiling,  “ the  prosperity  of 
life  lies  largely  in  the  true  use  of  imagination.” 

“ You  are  incorrigible,  Anne.  But  I know  I am 
right.” 

“ Knowledge  and  wisdom,  far  from  being  one,  are 
ofttimes  different,”  quoted  Anne,  rising,  and  not  over 
well  pleased.  “I  think  I shall  go  and  lie  down.” 

“I  think  I would,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  simply. 
“You  are  not  looking  well  to-day.” 

“ I am  well  enough,”  said  Miss  Anne. 

“All  ready ! — and  the  fish  and  Polycarp  ! ” cried 
Lyndsay. 

Rose  was  soon  in  the  canoe,  and  the  men  began 
poling  across  the  river.  As  they  moved,  she  sat,  re- 
flecting upon  the  little  scene  she  had  witnessedo  It 
troubled  her  that  two  people  so  dear  to  her  should 
not  always  understand  each  other.  The  mother  had 
already  ceased  to  think  of  it,  and  the  aunt’s  irritability 
was  a matter  of  minutes.  Only  Anne  Lyndsay  knew 
how  sternly  a remarkable  intellect  had  by  degrees 
dictated  terms  of  reasonable  life  to  a quick  temper 
and  a tongue  too  perilously  skilful.  This  endless 
warfare  was  now  rarely  visible,  but  its  difficulties 
were  terribly  increased  at  times  when  weakness  and 


112  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

pain  grew  hard  to  endure  and  fought  on  the  side  of 
her  foes.  There  were,  indeed,  times  during  the  weari- 
ness of  travel  when  Rose  Lyndsay  was  startled  by 
what  she  saw;  times  when  Anne  was  striving  with 
constantly  increasing  pain.  Then  it  would  end  with 
a laugh  and  a jest,  and  some  quaint  defense  of  pain 
as  a form  of  moral  education,  until  Rose,  despite  her- 
self, would  be  reassured,  and  she 

Who  would  have  given  a caliph’s  gold 

For  consolation,  was  herself  consoled. 

These  things  troubled  her  as  she  crossed  the  stream. 
Once  ashore  she  ceased  to  think  of  them.  Polycarp, 
with  few  words,  slung  the  salmon  on  his  back,  and, 
leaving  Ambrose  to  pious  meditations  and  the  canoe, 
indicated  the  ox-road  to  Rose,  who  went  on  in  front. 

After  twenty  minutes  of  swift  walking,  Rose  came 
out  of  the  wood-path  into  a clearing  of  some  fifty 
acres,  and  at  last  to  a cabin  set  in  an  inclosure.  Here 
were  a few  beds  of  the  commoner  flowers  and  a squared- 
log  house.  The  windows  were  open,  the  clean  white 
muslin  curtains  pulled  back,  and  on  the  ledges  tomato- 
cans  and  a broken  jug  or  two  filled  with  that  flower 
which  grows  best  for  the  poor,  the  red  geranium.  On 
the  south  end  of  the  cabin  a Japanese  ivy,  given  by 
Mrs.  Lyndsay,  had  made  a fair  fight  with  the  rigor  of 
a Canadian  winter  and  was  part  way  up  to  the  gable. 
Noticing  the  absence  of  dirt  and  of  the  litter  of  chips, 
rags,  egg-shells,  and  bits  of  paper,  so  common  where 
labor  has  all  it  can  do  to  attend  to  the  essential,  Rose 
tapped  on  the  open  door,  and  then,  turning,  saw  Mrs. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


113 


Maybrook  standing  at  the  well.  She  came  forward  at 
once  to  meet  her  visitor. 

“ Why,  I guess  you  must  be  Margaret  Lyndsay’s 
daughter.” 

Eose,  a little  taken  aback  by  the  familiar  manner  of 
this  identification,  perhaps  showed  it  to  this  shrewd 
observer  in  something  about  her  bearing  as  she  said, 
“ A pleasant  evening  after  the  rain,”  and  took  the 
proffered  hand.  “ Yes,  I am  Eose  Lyndsay.” 

u I ?m  never  quite  rid  of  my  Quaker  fashion  of  nam- 
ing folks  without  their  handles.  Seems  to  get  you 
nearer  to  people.  Now,  don’t  you  think  so  ? Come  in.” 
Eose,  as  her  host  stepped  aside,  entered  the  cabin.  It 
was  bedroom,  kitchen,  and  sitting-room  all  in  one,  like 
most  of  these  rude  homes,  but  it  was  absolutely  clean, 
and  just  now,  as  the  cooking  was  done  out  of  doors, 
was  cool  and  airy.  Mrs.  Maybrook  was  in  a much- 
mended  gown,  and  bore  signs  enough  of  contact  with 
pots  and  pans.  Still  the  great  coils  of  hair  were  fairly 
neat,  and  the  gray  eyes  shone  clear  and  smiling.  She 
made  none  of  the  apologies  for  her  house  or  its  fur- 
niture such  as  the  poor  are  apt  to  make,  nor  yet  for 
herself  or  her  dress. 

“Come  in  and  sit  down.  I ?m  that  glad  to  see 
you.  Oh,  Polycarp,  is  that  you?  And  your  father 
has  sent  me  a salmon?  My  old  man  will  like  that. 
Put  it  in  the  brook,  Polycarp.” 

“ But  it  is  my  fish,”  said  Eose.  “ I killed  it  and  I 
wanted  you  to  have  it ; my  father  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  I am  glad  of  a chance  to  thank  you,  Mrs. 
Maybrook,  for  — for  all  you  were  to  my  mother  — 

all  you  did  last  summer  when  our  dear  Harry  died.” 
8 


114  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

And  this  fine  young  woman,  in  her  tailor-made 
London  walking-gown,  thereupon  having  got  to  the 
end  of  words,  and  having  had  this  thing  in  mind  for 
ten  minutes,  fell  an  easy  victim  to  nature,  so  that  her 
eyes  filled  as  she  spoke.  When  this  came  about,  Dor- 
othy became  as  easy  a prey  to  the  despotism  of  sym- 
pathetic emotion,  and  her  tears,  too,  fell  like  ripe 
apples  on  a windy  November  day.  Also,  upon  this, 
these  two  “ fools  of  nature  ” looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled  through  their  tears,  which  is  a mysteriously 
explanatory  and  apologetic  habit  among  rightly  made 
women.  After  this  they  were  in  a way  friends.  The 
elder  woman  took  the  hand  of  the  younger  and  said : 
“ When  my  last  boy  died,  there  was  a woman  I just 
hated,  and  she  came  and  she  cried.  It  makes  a heap 
of  matter  who  cries, — don’t  it,  now  ? ” 

“ Oh,  it  does — it  does,”  said  Rose,  with  still  a little 
sob  in  her  voice. 

“ I did  n’t  want  that  woman  to  cry.  But  you  don’t 
mind  my  crying,  now,  do  you  ? That  was  the  sweetest 
little  fellow.” 

“ Please  don’t,”  said  Rose. 

“No,  no;  I won’t,  I know.  Is  n’t  it  awful  lucky 
men  can’t  cry?  That ’s  just  the  only  way  we  can  get 
even  with  ’em.  How  ’s  mother?  And  Miss  Anne? 
Now,  that  is  a woman.  Never  saw  a woman  like  her 
in  all  my  born  life.  Ain’t  she  got  a way  of  saying 
things?  Oh,  here  ’s  Hiram.  Hiram,  this  is  Miss 
Rose  Lyndsay.  I reckon  ” — Mrs.  Maybrook  reckoned, 
calculated,  or  guessed  with  the  entire  indifference  of 
a woman  who  had  lived  south,  north,  and  east — 
“ I reckon  they  knew  what  they  was  about  when  they 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  115 


called  yon  Rose.  'T  ain't  easy  naming  children.  They 
ain't  all  like  flowers,  that  just  grow  up,  according  to 
their  kind.  If  you ’d  have  been  called  Becky,  there 
would  n't  have  been  no  kind  of  reason  in  it." 

“ I trust  not,"  laughed  Rose. 

“ How  do  you  do,  miss  ? " said  Hiram.  He  was  tall, 
a little  bent,  clad  in  sober  gray,  and  had  a shock  of 
stiff,  grizzly  hair  and  a full  gray  beard.  His  eyes, 
which  were  pale  blue  and  meaningless,  wandered  as  he 
stood. 

“ Miss  Rose  has  fetched  a fish,"  said  Dorothy.  “ You 
might  clean  it,  Hiram." 

“ I '11  do  it,"  he  said,  stolidly,  and  turned  to  go  like 
a dull  boy  sent  on  an  errand. 

“And  don't  forget  to  fetch  the  cows  in  at  sun- 
down." 

“ I '11  do  it,"  and  he  went  out. 

“ He  's  a bit  touched  in  his  head,"  said  his  wife. 
“ You  see,  when  we  were  at  Marysville  the  war  kind 
o'  upset  him.  They  wanted  him  to  go  into  the  rebel 
army,  and  he  was  n't  minded  to  do  it.  I got  him  a 
place  on  a railroad,  so  he  did  n't  have  to  ; but  he  was 
awful  worried,  and  took  to  thinking  about  it,  and  his 
brothers  that  were  in  our  army, — on  the  other  side, — 
and  then  he  got  off  his  head.  He  ain't  been  the  same 
man  since, — and  twice  he  ran  away.  But  I fetched 
him  both  times,  and  then  the  fevers  took  the  children. 
He  ain't  been  the  same  man  since.  I 've  got  to  p'int 
him  a good  bit, — that 's  what  he  calls  it  ,•  but  if  he 's 
p'inted  right,  he  goes  sure.  To  my  thinking,  it  is  a 
queer  world,  Miss  Rose.  I wish  I was  certain  there 
is  a better." 


116  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ But  there  is,”  said  Rose. 

“Well,  well.  Maybe.  Anyhow,  I never  felt  no 
call  to  doubt  what  I was  to  do  in  this  one.  Old 
Kitchins  used  to  pray  over  me.  He  was  an  awful 
certain  man  about  other  folks’  sins;  never  missed 
fire.  At  last,  one  day,  when  he  was  a-consoling  me, 
and  thinking  he ’d  just  only  got  to  be  a kind  of  cen- 
turion for  a woman’s  troubles,  and  say  go  and  they ’d 
go,  I asked  him  if  he ’d  any  knowledge  of  the  gospel 
of  grinning, — and  that  ended  him.  Come  out  and 
see  my  flowers.” 

Rose  got  up,  laughing.  “I  want  you  to  walk  to 
Colkett’s  with  me.  I told  the  men  to  go  up  the  river, 
so  as  to  bring  us  back0  You  see,  I made  sure  you 
would  go.” 

“Go!  — of  course  I ’ll  go,”  said  Dorothy.  “No,  I 
won’t  want  a bonnet.  I ’ve  got  one  somewhere,  under 
the  bed,  I guess,”  and,  so  saying,  they  set  off.  It  re- 
quired little  skill  to  draw  from  this  frank  and  fearless 
nature,  as  they  walked,  the  history  of  a wandering 
life,  of  the  children  dead,  of  the  half-witted  husband, 
of  her  own  long-continued  asthma,  now  gone,  as  she 
hoped.  It  was  told  with  curious  vivacity, — with  some 
sense  of  the  humorous  quality  of  complete  disaster, 
and  when  she  spoke  of  her  dead  it  was  with  brief 
gravity,  which  seemed  to  deny  sympathy  or  hasten 
away  from  it.  As  they  moved  along  and  her  com- 
panion talked,  Rose  glanced  with  curiosity  at  the 
Quaker-born  woman,  who  had  lost  nearly  every  trace 
of  her  origin.  She  walked  well,  and  there  was  a cer- 
tain distinctiveness,  if  not  distinction,  in  her  erect  car- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  117 


riage  and  refinement  of  feature,  still  visible  after  years 
of  toil  and  troubles. 

At  last,  after  a pause,  Rose  spoke  for  herself. 

“It  seems  to  me  wonderful  that  you,  who  have 
gone  through  so  much,  could  have  stood  it  as  you 
seem  to  have  done.”  She  herself  was  at  the  opening 
age  of  doubts  and  questions.  At  times  the  discon- 
tentment of  a life  without  the  definite  aims  of  a man’s 
career  distressed  her.  Yet  she  had  surely  all  that  one 
could  ask  of  existence;  and  here  was  this  poverty- 
haunted  woman  supremely  cheerful  under  circum- 
stances such  as  would  have  ruined  all  capacity  for 
happiness  in  most  of  her  sex.  Rose  went  on,  half 
surprised  at  her  own  frankness: 

“I  have  everything  in  the  world,  and  sometimes  I 
am  not  happy.  I ought  to  be  ashamed.” 

“Well,  Miss  Rose,  I did  use  to  bother,  but  I gave  it 
up.  As  long  as  you  ’re  here,  you  ’re  here.  I ’m  like 
a pig  Hiram  used  to  have  out  West.  He  was  a very 
enterprising  pig,  and  was  always  a-trying  to  get  into 
the  pea-patch  and  out  of  his  own  field.  One  day  I 
was  watching  that  pig, — I used  to  think  that  pig  could 
laugh, — well,  he  spied  an  angle  of  a great  big,  dead 
cottonwood-tree  Hiram  had  set  to  stop  the  gap  in  a 
fence.  You  see,  the  two  ends  of  it  were  in  the  field, 
and  it  was  hollow  right  through  trunk  and  limb,  and 
the  point  of  it  stuck  out  into  my  pea-patch.  So,  Mr. 
Pig,  in  he  goes,  and  after  much  scratching  he  got 
through  the  trunk,  and  then  through  the  big  branch, 
and  then  out  he  came,  and  there  he  was  in  the  same 
field  again.  Well,  he  tried  it  three  times  and  then  he 


8* 


118 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


gave  it  up ; looked  like  he  ’d  have  liked  to  scratch  his 
head  j and  after  that  he  was  the  contentedest  pig  you 
ever  saw.  And  when  sticking-time  came,  at  Christmas, 
he  did  n’t  squeal  any  morsel  louder  than  the  rest.  I 
guess  Pma  good  deal  like  that  pig.  I ’ve  quit  trying 
to  get  out  of  my  field,  and  so  I just  stay  here  and  grin, 
and  take  what  comes.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Rose,  smiling.  “ That  is  a de- 
lightful parable,  Mrs.  Maybrook.”  And  with  it  Rose 
ceased  awhile  to  hear  what  her  companion  said,  and 
took  stern  measures  with  herself,  because  of  the 
thoughts  this  woman’s  life  and  words  had  brought 
to  her. 

Dorothy  was  at  times,  when  her  audience  suited 
her,  a person  who  talked  herself  out  in  liberal  amount, 
finding  in  self-utterance  one  of  her  few  and  most  dis- 
tinct pleasures.  Yet  she  was  never  so  full  of  herself 
as  entirely  to  cease  to  think  of  others.  She  saw  in  a 
few  minutes  that  Rose  had  lost  hold  of  the  talk,  and 
was  at  intervals  saying, 66  Yes,  yes,”  in  an  absent  way, 
so  as  to  keep  up  a decent  appearance  of  being  still  in- 
terested in  her  companion’s  words.  Dorothy  had  by 
no  means  fine  manners,  but  she  had  the  automatically 
active  instincts  of  a woman  to  whom  tact  was  a natural 
gift.  She  too  became  silent,  and  they  walked  on  for  a 
time  without  more  exchange  of  words. 

Rose,  like  some  young  women  of  her  age,  was  at 
times  the  easy  prey  of  moods  of  absence,  which 
carried  her  far  enough  from  the  hour  or  its  com- 
pany. She  had  preached  herself  a severe  sermon, 
and  now  came  back  to  the  outer  world  again  as  they 
passed  a marshy  spot  where,  of  a sudden,  the  whole- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  119 


some  wood  odors  rose  around  her,  that  delightful 
commingling  of  the  scent  of  moldering  trunks,  res- 
inous weepings  of  the  pine,  and  the  sweetness  of 
the  breath  of  the  young  spruces.  Nature  said,  in 
her  most  tender  tones,  “ Come  back  to  me  out  of 
your  tangle  of  self-discussion,  and  I will  give  you 
rest.”  It  was  a delicately  responsive  organization  to 
which  this  mute  appeal  was  made,  and  the  fine  instru- 
ment answered  to  the  call  with  no  more  conscious- 
ness of  the  gentle  influence  than  has  the  swaying 
pine  stirred  to  healthful  exercise  by  the  northland 
breeze. 

“Don’t  you  like  the  wood-smells?”  she  said. 
“Me?  I guess  I do.  That  ’s  queer  about  Susan 
Colkett;  asked  her  one  day  if  she  did  n’t  love  the 
spruce-smells,  and  she  just  said  they  had  n’t  none.” 
“ That  was  odd.  I could  never  like  that  woman, 
but  I am  very,  very  sorry  for  her.” 

“Like  her!  Miss  Rose,  I saw  her  once  killing 
chickens, — I never  can  do  that, — and  the  woman  was 
laughing  all  the  while.  I don’t  love  her,  but  — 
There  ’s  the  house;  you  wait  here  in  the  woods; 
I ’ll  get  her  out,  and  then  you  can  talk.  Sit  down  on 
this  log.  I ’ll  fetch  her.” 

“ But  are  you  not  afraid,  Mrs.  May  brook  ? ” 

“ I ? No ; I ’m  old  and  tough,  and  it  would  n’t 
matter  much  — except  for  Hiram.  There  ’d  be  no- 
body to  p’int  him,”  and  she  laughed. 

Then  Rose  took  up  her  sermon  again,  and  Dorothy 
walked  to  the  back  of  the  crumbling  cabin,  through 
the  vileness  of  the  cow-shed,  which  was  connected 
with  the  house  to  save  wintry  exposures  in  caring  for 


120  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

the  cattle,  now  reduced  in  number  to  one  lank,  milk- 
less cow. 

Two  decrepit  chickens  fled  as  she  came  by,  and  a 
long-legged,  high-roofed  pig  lifted  his  snout  above 
his  empty  trough  and  grunted  a famine-born  ap- 
peal. Her  feet  were  noiseless  in  the  slough  of  muck 
through  which  she  picked  her  way  with  a grimace  of 
disgust.  At  the  open  back  door  she  paused,  hear- 
ing high  voices  within.  About  to  enter,  she  halted 
abruptly,  and  a look  of  intense  attention  came  upon 
her  face.  The  speakers  were  hidden,  but  in  the  dim- 
ness at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  she  saw  the  half 
of  the  bed, — one  broken  leg  of  it  tied  up  to  a splint 
of  wood, — and  above,  the  white  sheet  upon  the 
figure  of  the  dead  child.  She  stayed  motionless  a 
moment,  at  first  merely  shocked  at  the  rude  noises 
in  the  chamber  of  death,  but,  when  about  to  knock, 
stopped  short  again  at  the  hearing  of  her  own  name. 

“Dory  Maybrook  ’s  a fool;  don’t  tell  me  about 
her ! ” 

“Well,  I won’t.  Ain’t  I goin’  to  have  no  more  of 
that  money  ? ” It  was  Joe  Colkett  who  spoke. 

“ You  took  five  dollars  last  night,”  said  the  woman. 
Her  voice,  strident  and  high-pitched,  sent  a shiver  of 
discomfort  through  Dorothy.  “Did  n’t  think  no 
man  would  be  mean  enough  to  steal  from  under  a 
dead  child’s  pillow ! ” 

“I  might  ov  took  it  all, — I ’m  that  miserable. 
Don’t  go  to  say  I ’m  drunk.  I ’m  not.  What  did 
you  do  with  the  rest  of  it,  anyway?” 

“I  got  Bill  Churchman’s  wife  to  buy  me  a white 
gown  down  the  river,  to  put  on  my  child,  and  a white 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


121 


sheet,  and  then  there  ’s  the  money  to  fetch  the 
preacher.  I could  n’t  get  no  sheet  until  I paid  your 
reckonin’  for  whisky.  There  ain’t  much  left.” 

“ I ’m  dreadful  sorry,”  said  the  man. 

“Oh,  don’t  go  a- whinin’  round  me!  Just  let  me 
alone!  I was  a fool  to  have  took  a man  like  you, 
that  ain’t  got  no  sense  and  no  work  in  him!” 

“I  would  n’t  ov  sayed  that,  Susie.” 

“No ? Well,  I say  it.  What  did  that  lawyer  man 
tell  you  about  the  mortgage  ? When  has  we  got  to 
go?” 

“Oh,  he  says  we  may  bide  till  next  winter;  but 
he  ’s  to  have  the  cow  and  the  pig.” 

“ And  you  said  you ’d  give  ’em  up  ? ” 

“Yes.  What  could  I ov  done?  Susie,  don’t  you 
set  there  a-cryin’.  I can  git  a lumber  job,  and  we  ’ll 
look  about,  and  Mr.  Lyndsay  he  ’ll  give  us  a bit  of 
money.” 

“No,  he  won’t.  Dory  Maybrook  she  ’ll  tell  him 
Mr.  Carington  gave  you  some  money,  and  Dory  she  ’ll 
tell  him,  too,  it ’s  no  use  helpin’  a drunken  brute.” 

“I  said  I would  n’t  drink  no  more,  and  I won’t. 
You  might  believe  me,  Susie.  Ain’t  I alius  loved 
you,  and  slaved  for  you  and  them  dead  children,  and 
not  mine  neither  ? I ’in  not  a bad  man,  if  I do  take 
a drop  now  and  again.” 

“ If  you  was  a worse  man,  I ’d  ov  liked  you  better. 
A great  strong  man  like  you,  and  all  these  rich 
folks  round  here.” 

“ What ! ” he  exclaimed. 

Dorothy  started.  She  would  have  liked  to  see 
those  two  faces. 


122 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ If  you  was  to  care  for  me  a little,  Susie,  I ’d  do 
most  anything  you  wanted.” 

“Ain’t  that  Carington  cornin’  up  in  September, 
and  did  n’t  he  ask  you  to  go  into  the  woods  after 
caribou  with  him  ? There  ain’t  no  better  hunter  than 
^s'ou  in  these  parts.”  As  she  spoke,  her  voice  became 
low  and  softer,  so  that  the  listener  scarcely  heard  it. 
“ Them  city  folks  carries  a lot  of  money  about  with 
’em,  and  watches  and  things.  We  ’ve  got  to  get 
away,  and  we ’ve  got  to  live,  Joe  Colkett, — to  live,  I 
say ! ” 

“ Do  you  want  me  to  steal  the  man’s  money  ? ” 

“ Oh,  stealin’  gits  found  out.  Ain’t  we  been  robbed  ? 
Who  stole  our  house  and  all  my  man’s  earnin’s  ? ” 

“ What  is  it  you  want,  Susie  ? ” He  spoke  timidly. 

“I  want  a man  as  is  a man,  and  ain’t  afeard, — 
you  ain’t  him  ! ” 

“Did  n’t  I say  I ’d  do  ’most  anything  for  you?” 

“ ’Most  anything ! ” 

“Well,  anything.”  Then  there  was  a moment  of 
utter  silence.  “ You  would  n’t  go  to  want  me  to  do 
nothin’  wrong.” 

“Well,  you  are  a fool!  Ain’t  folks  lost  in  them 
woods  sometimes,  and  never  found  ? ” 

“ I can’t  do  it,”  said  the  man,  hoarsely.  “ I said  I 
could  n’t,  and  I can’t.  I — I can’t,”  and  he  was  heard 
moving  to  and  fro  in  the  agitated  indecision  of  a 
great  temptation.  Dorothy  began  to  fear  that  she 
would  come  into  view. 

“ I can’t,”  he  repeated. 

“But  he  will,”  murmured  Dorothy,  falling  back 
noiselessly.  Then,  stepping  through  a break  in  the 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  123 


rotten  boards  of  the  shed,  she  bent  low  among  the 
alders  and  fled.  When  away  in  the  woods,  she  walked 
until  she  came  again  to  Rose.  “They  ’re  in,”  she 
said.  “ Mind,  we  ’ve  just  come.  Don’t  let  on  I left 
you — hush — not  now.  There  ?s  a reason.  I can’t 
explain  now.  Come.” 

Rose,  rather  bewildered,  followed  her.  A few  paces  ^ 
from  the  closed  door  she  stood  still,  while  Dorothy, 
going  on,  called  gently,  “ Susie  Colkett,”  and  knocked 
as  she  spoke. 

“ Oh,  it  ?s  you  ! ” said  the  mistress  of  the  house,  as 
she  came  forward  to  the  doorway. 

“ Yes  5 Miss  Lyndsay  came  up  with  me.  Dear  me  ! 

I ’m  that  tired ! ” 

Mrs.  Colkett,  from  her  grim  height  of  leanness, 
looked  sharply  at  the  speaker.  “ That  ain’t  common 
with  you.”  Then  she  came  out  and  went  up  to  Rose. 

“ Won’t  you  come  in  ? ” she  said.  “ It  ain’t  much  of  a 
house,  but  poor  folks  has  got  to  put  up  with  what 
they  can  git.”  The  stooping  carriage,  the  high,  red 
cheek-bones,  and  the  large,  yellow  teeth  struck  the 
young  woman  unpleasantly.  That  the  mother  said 
nothing  of  the  dead  child  within  seemed  strange. 

“I — I could  n’t  now, — not  now,”  said  Rose,  gently. 

“I  wanted  to  say  we  were  all  so — so  very  sorry  for 
you.  It ’s  only  just  a year  last  week  that  my  own  little 
brother  died,  you  know.” 

“And,  Susie,  it  was  the  same  thing,  oh,  just  the 
same,”  said  Dorothy,  softly. 

“ My  father  would  like  to  know  if  there  is  anything 
you  want;  anything  — really  anything  we  can  do?” 

“ No,”  she  said.  At  one  moment  she  was  filled  with 


124  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

eager  greed  to  get  all  that  was  to  be  had  out  of  these 
fine  people ; at  the  next  she  was  shaken  by  a storm  of 
anger  at  the  contrast  between  these  deaths.  She  had 
a crude  remembrance  of  the  decencies  and  order  of  the 
funeral  of  Harry  Lyndsay,  and  then  of  Joe  coming  in 
with  the  rough  coffin,  of  the  place  back  in  the  woods 
where  her  two  children  lay  in  unmarked  graves.  On 
such  recollections  the  mere  brutalness  of  love  of  her 
offspring  dwelt  with  savagery  of  comment.  She  had 
seen  the  small  stone  which  had  been  set  over  the  little 
Lyndsay,  in  the  late  spring,  just  before  the  family  had 
come  upon  the  river.  These  things  had  been  in  her 
mind  for  days,  and  now  it  was  hard  to  conceal  her 
feelings  She  would  have  liked  to  take  an  ax  and 
break  the  modest  memorial  of  their  dead.  She  said, 
merely,  “No,  no !77  to  Rose,  and  then,  shortly,  “Joe 
and  me  are  much  obliged,  miss/7 

“You  will  let  us  know  if  we  can  help  you?77  Her 
visible  emotion  Rose,  very  naturally,  misinterpreted. 
Dorothy  stood  by,  grave,  silent,  and  watchful. 

“ Where  7s  your  man  ? 77  she  said,  as  Rose  bade  good- 
by  and  turned  away.  Joe,  stunned,  half  afraid  of  his 
masterful  temptress,  had  remained  in  the  cabin.  “ Oh, 
Susie,77  added  Dorothy,  in  lower  tones,  “ I hope  he 
has  n7t  been  drinking  again?77 

“ What  7s  that  your  business  ? 77  returned  the  other 
woman.  “ Guess  I can  take  care  of  my  man.77 

“ I am  not  so  sure  of  that ; but  I did  n?t  mean  to 
offend  you.77 

“ Then  you  had  n7t  ought  to  have  meddled.77 

“ All  right,77  said  Dorothy ; “ good-by 77  ,•  and,  turn- 
ing, she  left  Mrs.  Colkett  and  rejoined  Rose. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  125 


“What  a woman !”  she  said,  and  then  for  a time 
neither  spoke. 

When  they  were  well  on  their  way  to  the  shore, 
Rose  said : “ I am  troubled,  Mrs.  May  brook,  that  I so 
dislike  any  one  as  unfortunate  as  that  woman.  But  I 
don’t  like  her.  I never,  never  want  to  go  there  again, 
and  I am  sorry  for  her,  too.  Oh,  I am  as  sorry  as  I 
can  be ; but  — ” 

Dorothy  simply  said,  “ I do  not  wonder.”  And  then, 
with  a laugh,  “ The  fact  is,  Miss  Rose,  that  Colkett 
woman  ’s  bad;  and,  for  my  part,  I hn  a right  lop- 
sided Christian.  I can’t  put  on  mourning  for  rattle- 
snakes just  the  same  as  for  doves.  It  ’s  a kind  of 
comfort  to  find  you  are  n’t  much  better  than  I am.” 

“ I, — indeed  not ! ” 

Meanwhile  Dorothy  was  debating  in  her  mind  how 
much  she  should  tell  her  companion.  A side  glance 
at  the  fresh  young  maiden  face  decided  her.  “ I said 
along  back  I would  explain  what  kept  me  so  long.  I 
cannot.  They  were  talking  about  me.  It  was  n’t  very 
pleasant.  I overheard  something  disagreeable.  I 
reckon  I ’ll  come  over  and  see  about  it  with  Mr.  Lynd- 
say.  Do  you  chance  to  know  Mr.  Carington  that  fishes 
up  to  Island  Camp  ? ” 

“No.”  Rose  felt  that  whatever  was  withheld  con- 
cerned — must  concern  — this  gentleman.  “ But  I am 
immensely  curious,”  she  said. 

“Are  you?”  cried  Dorothy,  laughing.  “ I am  going 
to  keep  my  mouth  shut  for  twenty-four  hours,  and 
that ’s  real,  rity-dity  penance,  I can  tell  you  ! Did  you 
never  see  Mr.  Carington  ? Why,  he ’s  right  up  river, 
just  two  or  three  miles.” 


126  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ No, — or  yes,  with  my  glass  a moment,  ever  so  far 
away.  What  is  he  like  ? ” 

“ Oh,  there ’s  two.” 

“ Not  twins  ? ” 

“ No.  There ’s  a Mr.  Ellett.  He ’s  a man  walks 
about  and — well,  he  walks  about.” 

Rose  laughed.  She  felt  the  description  to  be  some- 
what indistinct,  and  said  so. 

“ Kind  of  man  says  ‘ Oh ! ’ when  you  talk  to  him. 
Awful  neat  man, — wears  glasses  ?” 

“ And  the  other  ? ” 

“He ’s  a well-set-up  man.  Stands  up  strong  on 
his  hind  legs.” 

“ His  what  1 ” 

“ His  hind  legs.  He ’s  pretty  smart  with  a boat, 
and  a gun,  too.  He ’s  got  a way  of  putting  his  head 
back,  and  sort  of  looking  you  over,  as  if  he  was  tak- 
ing stock  of  you.  It ’s  not  as  if  he  was  stuck  up  or 
saucy.  It  ’s  just  a way  your  father  has,  too,  Miss 
Rose.” 

“ Indeed ! ” Miss  Lyndsay  was  not  quite  sure  she 
desired  any  one  to  resemble  her  father.  “Here  we 
are  at  the  landing.” 

“ You  won’t  mind  if  I ask  you,  Miss  Rose,  not  to 
say — there  was — anything — anything  wrong?” 

“ No,  of  course  not,  if  you  wish  it ; but  I do  want 
to  know,”  and  then  they  went  away  homeward,  down 
the  highway  of  the  waters.  In  fact,  as  to  this  matter 
of  which  she  was  not  to  speak,  Rose  was  vastly  curi- 
ous, and  lay  long  awake  that  night,  smiling  at  times 
over  the  description  of  the  dwellers  at  the  Island 
Camp. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  127 


Dorothy  slipped  away  up  the  ox-road,  from  the 
river-bank  opposite  the  Cliff  Camp,  and  went  with 
slow  and  unusually  thoughtful  steps  through  the 
wood.  At  the  gate  of  their  clearing  she  found 
Hiram,  as  usual,  waiting  for  her  like  a patient  dog 
for  the  master. 

“ You  ’ve  been  a long  time,”  he  said. 

“ Yes, — I could  not  help  it.  Are  the  cows  milked?” 

“ No.  I kind  of  forgot.” 

“ Better  go  and  milk  them  now,”  she  said;  “and 
don’t  forget  to  feed  the  hogs,  and  put  the  bars  up, — 
one,  two,  three  things,”  and  she  smiled ; “ mind,  three 
things.” 

“ Oh,  now  I ’m  pointed  right.  I ’ll  go.  The  bars, 
you  said  ? ” 

“Yes,  the  bars.”  And  he  went  away,  saying, 
“One,  two,  three,  one,  two,  three.  I might  forget 
them  bars ! ” And  meanwhile  the  wife  moved  home- 
ward, still  deep  in  thought. 


CHAPTER  IX 


breakfast  next  day,  Rose  came  in 


“ What,  overslept  yourself  ? ” said 
>r  father,  as  she  went  the  round  of 
e table  with  her  morning  kisses. 

“ Yes;  I could  n’t  get  to  sleep.” 

“ And  what  kept  you  awake  ? ” said  Miss  Anne,  who 
still,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  appeared  almost  daily  at  the 
morning  meal.  “ A penny  for  your  thoughts.” 

“I  was  guessing  a riddle;  but  I took  it  into  my 
sleep  unanswered.” 

“A  good  many  riddles  have  been  answered  in  sleep,” 
said  Miss  Anne.  “ Was  yours  ? ” 

“No.  Oh,  no,  Master  Ned;  I shall  not  tell  it.” 
“That ’s  the  hardest  riddle  ever  was,”  cried  the 
boy.  “ I have  to  guess  what  the  riddle  is,  and  then 
what  the  answer  is.” 

“ You  will  never,  never  know.” 

“May  we  ask  twenty  uestions  about  it?”  said 
Dick.  “Animal,  vegetabh  r mineral?” 

“ I should  be  puzzled.  To  hat  kingdom  do  morals 
belong?” 

“ Why,  who  ever  heard  of  mineral  or  vegetable 
morals  ? ” 

“The  last  might  admit  of  illustration,”  said  Miss 
128 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


129 


Anne ; and  she  began  to  consider  within  herself  the 
people  she  knew  who  had  what  she  called  vegetable 
morals. 

“ Is  there  a man  in  your  riddle  ? ” cried  Jack. 

“ A Boss-town  man,”  said  Dick,  with  a grin. 

“ Pinch  him,  Jack,”  said  Rose. 

“ Oh ! ” cried  Dick,  responsive  to  the  promptly  ap- 
plied punishment,  and  making  a wry  face.  “You 
would  be  awfully  good  at  a Jersey  courtship,  Rose, 
especially  if  you  got  Jack  to  help.” 

“A  good  friend  at  a pinch,”  said  Jack.  And  so 
these  foolish  people  rattled  on,  and  by  and  by  Mrs. 
Lyndsay  said: 

“ Rose,  you  have  not  told  us  anything  about  Mrs. 
Maybrook  and  those  poor  Colketts.  I did  not  ask 
you  last  night,  you  were  so  sleepy.” 

“ Don’t  ask  me  now,”  said  Rose.  “ I never  saw  such 
a horrible  creature  as  that  woman.” 

“ But  her  child  is  dead ! ” said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  with 
gentle  inconsequence. 

“ I think  her  altogether  hateful,”  insisted  Rose. 

“Altogether  hateful  ? ” cried  Anne.  “ I like  these 
complete  natures.  It  must  simplify  things  in  life  so 
satisfactorily.  Amiability  would  become  so  useless  an 
effort.  To  be  altogether  and  hopelessly  aside  from  the 
possibilities  of  affection  oj  aspect  might  save  a deal  of 
moral  exertion.” 

“ I don’t  think  I unr  stand,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay ; 
“ or,  if  I do,  I am  very  sure  that  it  is  n’t  a nice  thing 
to  say.  Would  n’t  it  be  as  simple  and  better  to  be 
altogether  lovable?” 

“ No,  no,”  cried  Anne  ; “ you  have  tried  that,  and 


130  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

does  it  really  pay,  dear?”  Margaret  was  a trifle 
uncertain  as  to  the  compliment,  and  Anne,  much  de- 
lighted at  her  game  of  what  she  called  mental  cat’s- 
cradle,  was  about  to  go  on,  when  Pierre  came  in. 

“Ah,  here  is  the  mail,”  said  Lyndsay,  and  emptied 
out  the  bag  on  a side-table. 

“I  have  been  yearning  for  a newspaper,”  said 
Anne. 

“ Not  I,”  cried  her  brother,  as  he  walked  around  the 
table  distributing  the  letters.  “Ah,”  he  said,  “ my 
friend  North.  He  was  to  have  joined  us  with  his  wife 
next  week,  Anne ; but  Clay  borne  is  dead.  You  will 
all  be  sorry  to  hear  that.  North  says  — it  is,  as  usual, 
interesting.  Shall  I read  it?  ” 

“ Oh,  certainly,  Archie, — all  of  it.  I am  very  sorry. 
It  will  be  a great  loss  to  Dr.  North.” 

“ And  to  our  too  small  world  of  letters,”  added 
Lyndsay. 

“He  says,  ‘ We  — that  is,  Vincent  and  I — had  spent 
two  hours  with  our  old  friend  in  that  great  book-clad 
room  we  all  know.  We  came  away  talking  of  his 
vast  knowledge  of  medieval  men  and  things.  I had 
chanced  to  say  I wondered  how  a gentleman  in  the 
fifteenth  century  spent  a day,  and  he  had  at  once  told 
it  all  in  curious  detail  — as  to  hours,  dress,  diet,  and 
occupations.  I left  Vincent  and  went  back  for  a book 
I had  meant  to  borrow.  When  I entered,  Clayborne 
was  seated  as  usual  with  a little  book  in  his  hand. 
As  he  did  not  stir,  I went  up  to  him.  The  book  was 
kept  open  by  his  palm.  I stooped  over  him  and  saw 
that  the  book  was  Pulke  Greville’s  on  Democracy. 
He  was  dead.  He  had  noiselessly  gone  out,  without 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  131 


stir  of  a finger.  He  must  have  been  receiving  ideas, 
dealing  with  them,  and  then  — 7 See,  Margaret,  this 
is  his  symbol  of  death.  ‘I  suppose,  dear  Lyndsay, 
you  will  think  it  strange  that  I sat  still  a half-hour 
beside  my  dead  friend.  I never  felt  the  other  world 
so  close;  it  seemed  within  touch.  At  last  — as  the 
great  frame  began  to  stiffen  — the  book  fell.  I took 
it,  marked  the  place,  and  put  it  in  my  pocket.7 

“ The  rest/7  said  Lyndsay,  “is  of  less  interest.77 

“A  happy  exit/7  said  Anne. 

“ I cannot  think  that/7  returned  Margaret.  “ I should 
want  to  know  that  I was  dying.77 

“ One  rarely  does/7  said  her  husband.  “ You  get 
muddled,  and  say  and  do  foolish  and  ill-bred  things. 
I sympathize  with  a friend  of  mine  who  gave  orders 
that  he  was  to  be  left  to  die  alone.77 

“ How  horrible  ! How  unnatural ! 77 

“No,  no/7  cried  Anne;  “it  is  you  who  are  ‘un-na- 
tured.7  But  imagine  dying  with  such  a dull  book  in 
hand ! I was  wondering  what  book  I should  want 
to  have  last  seen  on  earth.77 

“ I can  think  of  but  one,  Anne.77 

“ Oh,  that  is  not  one  book.  Why  call  it  a book  ? It 
is  the  books  of  many  men.  Besides, — and  this  is  ter- 
rible, Margaret, — I should  like  it  to  have  been  some 
very  earthsome  book, — I had  to  coin  an  adjective, — 
and  I should  like  it  to  be  like  Ned7s  friend  — several.77 

Margaret  was  critically  silent.  All  this  was  in  a 
way  unpleasant  to  her,  as  the  unusual  is  always  to 
some  people. 

“ I do  not  think/7  said  Lyndsay,  “ I know  with  what 
thoughts  I should  like  to  go  hand  in  hand  out  of  life. 


132 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


He  was  a fine,  irritable  old  fellow.  The  critics  won’t 
bother  him  now.” 

“ Who  can  tell  ? There  may  be  archangelic  critics, 
for  all  we  know,”  returned  Anne.  “ However,  perhaps 
one  won’t  mind  it.  You  know  what  Hafiz  says: 
1 Happy  are  the  dead,  for  they  shall  inherit  the  king- 
dom of  indifference.’  ” 

“Anne ! Anne ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Lyndsay. 

“ Between  papa’s  Aurelius  and  Aunt  Anne’s  Persian 
poets,”  said  Rose,  in  haste  to  intervene,  “ the  fairy-land 
of  bewilderment  is  never  far  away.” 

“ I have  the  wicked  worldliness,  brother,  to  want  to 
know  how  Mr.  Clayborne  left  his  money.  Was  n’t  he 
rich?” 

“ Yes.  Wait  a moment.  He  divided  it,  North  says, 
between  him — that  is  North,  dear ; I am  glad  of  that ; 
it  will  be  in  wise  hands  — and,  really,  that  queer  crea- 
ture, St.  Clair ; but  he  was  clever  enough  to  put  his 
share  in  trust.” 

“ I am  very  glad.  That  too  delightful  man  ! ” ex- 
claimed Rose.  “ Do  you  remember,  Aunt  Anne,  the 
morning  we  spent  with  him  at  the  Louvre  ? It  was 
like  walking  about  with  some  Greek  sculptor.  He 
seemed  to  be  away  in  Athens  while  he  talked.” 

“ It  was  certainly  interesting,”  said  her  aunt.  “ A 
trifle  naturalistic  at  times,  I thought.” 

“Was  he?  I don’t  know.  We  used  to  wonder, 
mama,  if  he  ever  really  cared  for  Alice  Leigh.  After 
that  morning  I made  up  my  mind  he  never  did.  He 
spent  ten  minutes  comparing  her  head  and  neck  to 
that  of  the  Diana.” 

“ What  a feminine  test ! ” said  Lyndsay.  “ If  a man 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  133 


were  to  tell  you  that  you  looked  like  the  Venus  of 
Melos,  Rose,  would  you  say,  ‘No,  sir;  you  can’t  care 
for  me.  It  is  impossible.  I shall  always/  etc.,  etc. 
— the  usual  formula?” 

“ You  are  too  bad,  Pardy ! My  convictions  are  un- 
shaken. Mr.  St.  Clair  told  me ; he  did  not  tell  her. 
If  he  had  told  her,  I know  he  would  have  said  it  in 
that  soft,  convinced  way.  She  would  have  liked  it.” 
“ I see,”  said  Lyndsay ; “ it  becomes  clearer.” 

“ Why  do  men  sneer  at  him  ? I think  him  — well, 
I think  him  indescribably  attractive.  The  word  ‘ fas- 
cinating’ would  answer.  And  I am  sorry  for  poor 
Mrs.  North;  oh,  I am!  Fascinating  — yes,  that  is 
what  I should  call  him,  and  oddly  unconventional.” 
“ I think  you  young  folks  are  too  apt  to  use  that 
word  fascinating/”  said  her  mother.  “I  have  no 
liking  for  these  men  who  can  fascinate,  and  can’t 
hold  fast  to  the  affections  of  any  one.” 

At  this  Anne  burst  into  inextinguishable  laughter, 
and,  with* one  hand  pressed  on  the  aching  side  which 
was  so  apt  to  check  her  wilder  mirth,  she  held  out 
the  other  to  the  astonished  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  exclaiming: 
“ A forfeit  — a pun  from  Margaret.  Five  cents  — 
ten  cents ; a forfeit ! ” 

“ And  what  did  I say  ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried  Rose. — “ the  dear  mama ! She  said  — 
she  said  a man  who  could  fascinate  and  not  hold  on 
to  one.  Oh,  mama,  how  could  you  ? ” 

“ But  I did  n’t.  I never  meant  such  a thing.” 
“Yes!  yes!”  they  cried;  and,  laughing,  got  up 
from  table  amidst  continued  protests  from  the  inno- 
cent punster. 

9* 


134  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Rose  followed  her  father  on  to  the  porch. 

“ Mrs.  Maybrook  will  be  over  at  ten.  She  wants  to 
see  you.  I told  her  you  would  not  fish  to-day .” 

“ What  is  it  she  wants  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.  Something  serious,  I fancy.” 
“No  new  trouble  for  her,  I hope.  By  the  way,  old 
Polycarp’s  bowman  is  sick  to-day  and  cannot  go  with 
you.  Anne,  for  a wonder,  wishes  to  go  on  the  water. 
Ned  shall  take  Pierre.  Not  to  disappoint  you,  I sent 
Polycarp  early  up  to  the  clearings  to  get  a bowman. 
He  will  be  back  shortly.  Good  luck  to  you ! ” And 
he  went  in  to  his  letters,  while  Rose  arranged  her 
fishing-basket,  put  in  it  a couple  of  books,  and  sat 
down  to  look  over  the  bright  assortment  of  feathered 
lures  in  her  father’s  fly-book.  Now  and  then  she 
glanced  up  the  river,  but  no  boat  appeared. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Maybrook  came,  and  went.  Rose 
heard  her  father  say  to  her,  as  she  went  out : 

“No;  it  must  not  be  left  in  doubt.”  He  was  of 
opinion  that  it  might  mean  little ; but  it  might,  on  the 
other  hand,  mean  much.  Many  are  tempted,  and  few 
fall.  The  idea  of  crime  on  this  quiet  river  seemed 
almost  absurd  to  him.  He  added,  “I  shall  mention 
it,  you  may  feel  sure  of  that,  Mrs.  Maybrook.  A Lady 
Macbeth  in  business  up  here  is  queer  enough.” 

“ I certainly  do  think  he  ought  to  be  told,”  said  Dor- 
othy. 

These  bits  of  talk  much  puzzled  Rose.  As  to  Dor- 
othy, she  lingered  a while  to  chat  with  Anne,  who  sat 
with  her  hands  in  her  lap  in  that  entire  idleness  which 
more  than  any  other  thing  on  earth  exasperated  Mar- 
garet Lyndsay.  Below,  on  the  beach,  Ned  was  prepar- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


135 


ing,  a little  troubled  because  the  other  boys  were  not 
to  go  with  him,  while  they,  quite  reconciled  to  the  de- 
cree of  parental  fate,  were  gaily  launching  their  canoe, 
and  singing,  as  they  poled  up-stream : 

“I  would  not  gi;e  my  bonny  Rose, 

My  bonny  Rose-a-Lyndsaye, 

For  all  the  wealth  the  ocean  knows, 

Or  the  wale  of  the  lands  of  Lyndsaye.” 

Then  Rose  waved  her  handkerchief,  and,  much  dis- 
appointed, again  took  her  field-glass  and  still  saw  no 
canoe.  At  last  Mrs.  Lyndsay  came  out,  and  they  sat 
in  the  pleasant  sunshine,  the  mother  sewing  with  even 
constancy,  which  as  seriously  annoyed  Anne  as  her 
own  absence  of  all  manual  employ  did  the  little 
mother. 

Very  soon  Anne  became  engaged  in  her  usual 
amusement  of  recklessly  tangling  some  one  in  the 
toils  of  statements,  arguments,  and  opinions  in  which 
she  herself  had  no  serious  belief ; since,  I should  add, 
this  bright,  humorous,  and  strangely  learned  creature 
was,  under  all,  a woman  of  strong  views  and  deliber- 
ately won  religious  beliefs. 

When  Rose,  distracted  from  her  regrets  at  the  loss 
of  the  forenoon  fishing,  began  to  hear  the  talk,  Anne 
had  just  said : 

“I  don't  see  how  the  world  could  go  on  at  all  with- 
out fibs." 

Upon  which  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  despite  years  of  acquain- 
tance with  her  sister-in-law,  pricked  her  finger  and 
dropped  her  thimble,  and  took  to  her  fan. 

“You  see,  there  is  no  commandment  against  it, 
Margaret." 


136  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ But,  Anne,  1 Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness/  ” 
said  Mrs.  Lyndsay. 

“ But  suppose  I tell  a harmless  fib  about  myself,  or 
praise  some  one  I should  like  to  — to  slap  ? ” 

“It  ’s  all  false  witness,  I reckon,”  said  Dorothy. 
“ If  I ain’t  my  own  neighbor,  I ’d  like  to  know  who 
is?” 

Anne  smiled.  That  this  fly  was  not  easily  meshed 
in  her  sophistical  web  only  excited  the  spider. 

“It  would  be  a horrid  addition  to  one’s  responsi- 
bilities to  be  one’s  own  neighbor.  I should  move 
away.  After  all,  Margaret,  is  n’t  the  chief  use  of 
habitual  truthfulness  to  enable  one  at  need  to  lie 
with  useful  probability  of  being  believed  ? ” 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Lyndsay  was  nearly  past  the  pos- 
sibility of  remonstrance.  She  let  fall  the  work  she 
had  resumed,  and,  rocking  steadily,  began  to  fan 
herself  with  deliberate  slowness.  A little  she  sus- 
pected this  baited  snare ; but  not  to  seize  it  was  be- 
yond her  power  of  self-control. 

“I  am  thankful  my  boys  are  not  here.  You  will 
say  it  is  a jest.  Whether  it  is  a jest  or  not,  it  is 
equally  the  kind  of  thing  which  should  not  be  said — 
ever,”  and  here  she  shut  the  fan  with  decision,  as  if 
that  also  closed  the  argument. 

“ I was  thinking  I ’m  rather  on  Miss  Anne’s  side,” 
said  Dorothy.  “ There ’s  a heap  of  righteousness  in 
some  lies.  Now,  if  I had  n’t  been  a dreadful  truth- 
speaking woman  a good  many  years,  *my  Hiram 
would  n’t  believe  me  now ; and  the  fact  is  I just  stuff 
that  man  full  of  lies  nowadays.  I just  chuck  them 
around  like  you  feed  chickens.  I tell  him  he  looks 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


137 


better  every  day,  and  how  he  is  getting  stronger 
Miss  Anne,  I should  n’t  wonder  a bit  if  the  Lord 
loved  a right  cheerful  liar.” 

“Good  gracious!”  said  Margaret  Lyndsay.  “Doro- 
thy, how  can  a good  woman  like  you  say  such 
things  ? ” 

“I  can.  And  he  ’s  a-failing  before  my  very  eyes,” 
she  added,  upon  which  she  became  silent.  A tear  or 
two  dropped  down  her  cheeks.  “ Now,  would  n’t  you 
lie,  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  if  you  was  me  ? ” 

Anne  looked  up  with  interest  as  to  what  the  an- 
swer might  be. 

“ I might ; I would,”  said  Margaret.  “ I am  afraid 
I should.”  Then  she  put  a sympathetic  hand  on  her 
friend’s  knee,  while  Anne  looked  grave,  and  Rose 
watched  Dorothy,  with  instant  pity  in  her  heart. 
But  this  was  not  Dorothy’s  common  way. 

“ My  lands ! I ’ve  been  making  a fool  of  myself ! ” 
She  had  the  aversion  of  the  strong  to  the  alms  of 
sympathy.  As  she  spoke  she  rose.  “ Come  over  and 
see  me  when  you  feel  right  good,  Miss  Anne.  I do 
love  a talk — and  my  roses ! I ’ve  got  a lot  of  them 
to  blooming  this  year,  and  if  that  is  n’t  enough  to 
make  a woman  happy,  what  is?” 

With  this  she  said  good-by  and  went  down  to  the 
beach.  Anne  watched  with  envy,  in  which  was  no 
unkindliness,  the  vigor  with  which  the  dugout  shot 
forth  from  the  shore.  “ A fine  nature,  that.  It  does 
one  good  to  talk  to  her.  Example  is  a strange  medi- 
cine. It  is  hard  to  analyze  its  value.  Because  she 
endures  with  patience,  I may.  Yes  5 my  helps  are 
larger.” 


138  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

As  Mrs.  Maybrook  walked  up  to  her  house  she 
thought  over,  as  was  the  habit  of  her  lonely  life,  the 
talk  she  had  had  with  Mr.  Lyndsay  and  its  occasion. 
In  her  younger  days  of  wandering,  Hiram  and  she 
had  lived  long  amidst  rough  people  in  the  West, 
among  miners  and  loose  ruffians  of  all  degrees  of 
wickedness.  Thus  the  idea  of  crime  was  not  so  un- 
familiar as  to  strike  her  as  it  did  Lyndsay.  She  had 
seen  men  shot,  and  had  been  where  murder  and 
plunder  were  common.  She  had  overheard  a half- 
evolved  scheme  of  villainy,  one  to  be  easily  thwarted ; 
nor,  knowing,  as  she  did,  Colkett  and  his  wife,  did  it 
greatly  amaze  her.  Still,  it  was  rare  to  hear  of  crime 
on  the  river.  She  had  found  more  or  less  explanation 
of  this  wickedness  in  what  she  remembered  of  the 
Colketts,  and  had  said  in  explanation  to  Mr.  Lyndsay : 

“She  was  a right  fine-looking  woman  when  she 
married  Joe  Colkett;  but  she  never  was  less  than 
bad.  She  7s  about  the  only  one  I ever  came  across 
that  would  give  her  man  — that  is,  her  first  man  — 
drink,  and  buy  it  for  him,  too,  till  she  poisoned  him. 
When  the  children  came,  and  two  were  idiots,  like 
drunkards7  brats  are,  as  every  one  knows,  she  put  it 
all  on  her  first  man  — Fairlamb  was  his  name.  At 
last  she  was  left  with  them,  and  nothing  to  do  but 
get  another  man.  She  7d  have  married  7most  any  one 
to  keep  those  children.  That  7s  the  only  good  about 
her ; but  the  funny  thing  is  the  way  that  stump  of  a 
fellow  does  love  her.  He  does,  though  ! 77 

“ A queer  story ! 77  said  Lyndsay. 

Now,  as  she  walked  homeward,  she  said  to  herself, 
“But  who  on  earth  was  that  Lady  Macbeth  Mr. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


139 


Lyndsay  talked  about  ? It  must  be  a book.  I forgot 
to  ask.  Think  I ’d  like  to  read  it.  I ’ll  ask  Miss 
Anne.  The  way  a woman  p’ints  a man  is  the  thing. 
Guess  I ’ve  always  p’inted  Hiram  straight,  thank  the 
Lord!  I wonder  if  he  ’s  seen  about  mending  that 
scythe  ? ” 

Meanwhile,  by  noon,  came  lazily  back  Polycarp 
and  the  canoe,  without  a bowman.  Lyndsay  was 
vexed.  There  had  been  no  one  at  the  clearings  who 
could  be  had.  Pierre,  when  he  came  in,  must  go 
down  with  the  mail.  Said  Lyndsay: 

“Go  back  at  once.  Stop  at  the  Island  Camp. 
There  seems  to  be  a lot  of  men  about  there.  I saw 
four  canoes  on  the  shore.  The  lumbermen  are  driv- 
ing on  that  reach.  Some  one  said  a photographer 
was  camped  there.  He  can’t  want  both  of  his 
men.  Don’t  ask  the  gentlemen  for  a man;  I don’t 
know  them.  Now,  mind  what  I say.  Find  some- 
body; I ?11  pay  him  a dollar  for  his  half-day,  but 
don’t  come  back  without  a bowman.” 

“ It ’s  a great  thing  the  way  you  p’int  a man,  papa,” 
said  Rose.  “ Mrs.  Maybrook  has  the  trick  of  it.” 

“ He  ’ll  find  some  one  now.  You  had  better  fish 
the  rock  stretch,  a mile  above  the  Island  Camp.  The 
Indian  knows,  and  no  one  has  cast  a fly  there  yet. 
Be  careful  not  to  get  on  Mr.  Carington’s  water. 
Watch  Polycarp,  or  he  ’ll  let  you  fish  down  to  the 
bay.  They  are  all  born  poachers,  these  fellows.” 
Polycarp  said  “Yes,”  and  no  more,  and  poled 
doggedly  away  up  the  river,  not  over  well  pleased. 
At  the  camp  he  beached  his  canoe.  The  photog- 
rapher had  gone.  The  lumbermen  could  none  of 


140  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOOLS  ARE  GREEN 

them  get  leave ; and  the  Indian,  pleased  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a lazy  half-day  with  his  pipe,  was  on  his  way 
back  to  his  canoe,  when  the  tent-fly  of  the  larger 
canvas  home  was  parted,  and  he  heard: 

“ Halloa  ! Want  anything  ? 77 
“ Want  man  for  bow  to  pole  down  at  Cliff  Camp. 
Mr.  Lyndsay  he  goin’  a-fishiu’,  and  my  man  sick  — 
hurt  leg.  No  much  good.” 

“ Well,  ask  the  lumbermen.” 

“No  make  any  use.”  At  this  appeared  a second 
man,  also,  like  the  first,  in  knickerbockers.  He  wore 
a glass  on  one  eye,  and  looked  Polycarp  over  curi- 
ously. Then  he  went  back,  and  lay  down  with  a 
novel  and  a pipe. 

“ Hold  on  ! ” said  Carington.  “ Take  one  of  our 
men;  Mr.  Ellett  is  n’t  going  to  fish  to-day.”  Then 
his  face  lit  up  with  a quick  look  of  merriment. 
“ What  fun ! I ’ll  go  myself  ! ” 

“You  would  n’t  do  that?  I would  n’t  do  that!” 
said  a voice  from  the  tent.  Now,  opposition  was  to 
this  young  man  like  fuel  to  fire. 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  said. 

“ Might  be  awkward.” 

“ Oh,  you  be  hanged  ! Look  here,  my  man,  what  7s 
your  name  ? 77 
“ Polycarp.” 

“Well,  you  antique  saint,  I mean  to  go  down  with 
you  and  pole  for  your  Mr.  — what  7s  his  name  ? 
oh,  Lyndsay,  is  it?  I can  pole.  Don’t  be  afraid. 
Here  7s  a dollar  if  you  don’t  let  on, — tell,  I mean.” 
The  Indian  grinned. 

“This  is  a spree,  Polyglot  — Poly-carp — Poly-sal- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


141 


mon,  or  whatever  your  multitudinous  fishy  name  is. 
Do  you  know  what  a spree  is  ? ” 

“ Plenty  heap  whisky ,”  said  the  Indian. 

“Well,  there  are  varieties.  Can  you  hold  your 
tongue  ? ” 

“ Yes — can  hold  tongue.” 

“ You  can  fib  a bit  ? ” 

“ Heap  much.” 

“ Then  remember  I am  one  of  the  men  up  here,  no 
matter  who.” 

“Well,  of  all  the  absurd  things  ! ” said  the  mentor 
within  the  tent. 

“ By  St.  Botolph,  as  they  say  in  Boston,  I need  a 
little  absurdity  to  make  a decent  average  after  a fort- 
night with  you,  you  confounded  old  conventional 
et  center  a”  And,  talking  or  laughing,  he  presently 
emerged  in  pretty  well  soiled  velveteens,  a dingy 
jacket,  slouched  felt  hat,  and  his  trousers  stuffed  in 
his  long  boots. 

“Are  you  really  going  ? ” said  Ellett. 

“I  am.  Come  along,  Polycarp.  I fancy  I ’m 
dressed  in  character.  What  fun  ! He  will  want  to 
pay  me,”  and  he  whistled  as  he  pushed  the  bow  out 
into  the  stream  and  sat  down  to  paddle. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Oliver  Ellett  considered  his  vanish- 
ing friend  from  afar  with  mingled  feelings  of  dismay 
and  admiration.  “ That  is  a very  remarkable  man. 
I could  n’t  possibly  have  done  that.  I think  there 
are  several  brief  insanities  besides  anger.”  Then,  as 
if  surprised  at  his  own  cleverness,  he  added,  “ I wish 
Carington  had  heard  that.  Confound  it ! ” and  he 
smote  an  army  of  unseen  midges  who  had  taken  ad- 


142  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

vantage  of  his  abstraction  to  prey  on  the  ruddy 
cheeks,  which,  with  a slight  tendency  to  stoutness 
of  girth,  gave  him  a look  of  youthfulness  he  much 
detested. 

“ What  was  it  Fred  said  last  night  about  remorse 
and  midges  ? Confound  it,  I forget.  Blank  the 
things  ! Get  a smudge,  Steve, — two  smudges ! ” 
And  he  retired  again  to  the  tent  and  his  novel. 

He  had  been  drowsily  considering  the  fates  of  a 
despairing  young  woman  for  a half-hour  or  more, 
when  he  was  aware  of  an  unfamiliar  voice  outside  of 
the  tent.  Steve,  the  guide,  an  honest,  good-tempered 
Gaspe  man,  was  heard  to  say : 

“Mr.  Carington  — he  went  away  a bit  back.  I 
did  n’t  see  him,  sir.  I was  getting  cedar  bark  for 
smudges.” 

“ Where  did  he  go  ? ” 

“Michelle,  where  is  Mr.  Carington?  Where  did 
he  go  ? ” 

“ The  bowman,  fully  prepared,  replied  at  once : 

“ I don’t  rightly  know.” 

At  this  Mr.  Ellett  bounded  from  his  mattress,  and 
appeared  without.  The  voice  he  heard  first  was  un- 
mistakably that  of  a man  of  his  own  world. 

“ Beg  pardon,”  he  said ; “ I was  dozing.  I am  Mr. 
Oliver  Ellett.  Won’t  you  come  in  1 ” 

“ No,  thank  you.  I have  but  a few  minutes.  I am 
Mr.  Lyndsay,  from  the  Cliff  Camp.  I came  to  see  Mr. 
Carington.  Is  he  here  ? ” 

“ No.  He  has  gone  off  somewhere.” 

“ On  the  river  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  143 


“ I don’t  think  he  is  fishing.  Perhaps,  if  you  were 
to  come  in  and  wait  a little,  he  might  turn  up.” 

But  this  Lyndsay  declined.  He  had  run  up  with 
Pierre’s  canoe,  and  must  return  to  get  rid  of  some  yet 
unanswered  letters  and  be  in  time  to  fish  the  lower 
pool. 

At  last,  after  a little  chat  about  the  salmon,  he 
said:  “Are  you  not  Oliver  Ellett’s  son,  of  Boston? 
I think  it  must  be  so:  the  resemblance  is  strong. 
We  were  classmates  at  Harvard.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Ellett ; “ he  was  my  father.” 

“He  was  stroke-oar  in  my  boat.  If  you  are  as 
good  a fellow  — oh,  if  you  are  half  as  good  a fellow 
— we  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  and  your  friend  at  the 
Cliff  Camp.” 

“ It  will  give  us  great  pleasure  5 and  what  shall  I 
say  to  Carington  ? ” 

“ That  can  wait.  By  the  way,  I sent  that  Indian  of 
mine  to  the  lumbermen  to  get  a bowman  for  half  a 
day.  I trust  he  did  not  trouble  you.  I gave  him 
strict  orders.  I saw  he  had  been  successful.  We 
passed  him  as  I came  up.” 

“ Yes,  he  got  some  one,”  said  Ellett.  “ It  was  not  one 
of  our  men.”  And  so,  with  further  talk  of  flies  and 
fish,  he  carefully  conducted  Mr.  Lyndsay  to  his  canoe, 
and  was  relieved  to  hear  him  tell  Pierre  to  land  him 
on  the  far  shore. 

“ One  feels  the  need  to  use  one’s  legs  here.  Meet 
me  at  the  timber  brow,”  he  said  to  Pierre.  “ I shall 
walk  fast.  Good-by,  Mr.  Ellett,  and  come  soon  to 
see  us.” 


144 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


Ellett  stood  a moment,  and  then  went  back  to  his 
tent.  “ I wonder  whom  he  is  to  pole  for  ? It  is  n’t 
Mr.  Lyndsay.  Christopher  Columbus ! What  a lot 
of  mischief  you  are  responsible  for  ! No  wonder  Fred 
says  you  have  pretty  near  as  much  sin  to  your  count 
as  that  fair  explorer  who  discovered  the  new  world  of 
wickedness.  By  George ! If  it  should  be  the  woman ! 
He  stared  at  her,  Sunday,  through  his  glass  as  they 
went  by,  until  I told  him  it  was  n’t  decent.  He  said 
it  did  bring  her  pretty  close.  Well,  I never  heard  of 
falling  in  love  through  a telescope.  Now,  that  was  n’t 
a bad  idea  at  all.”  He  had  no  high  estimate  of  him- 
self, and  was  occasionally  overcome  at  his  own  clever- 
ness. “ This  beats  my  novel  all  to  bits.  More  smudge, 
Michelle ! ” 

Meanwhile  the  canoe  ran  down-stream,  Fred  Car- 
ington  in  the  bow,  and  Polycarp,  with  his  change- 
less, coppery  visage,  astern. 

As  the  Indian  had  by  no  means  hurried  himself, 
the  morning  was  past  and  luncheon  long  over  when 
Rose  saw  the  canoe  returning.  Lyndsay  had  not 
come  back.  At  all  events,  she  would  have  the  after- 
noon fishing. 


CHAPTER  X 


[HEN  Mr.  Lyndsay  reached  home, 
Rose  had  gone,  and  he  had  no  chance 
to  take  a look  at  the  new  bowman : 
he  hoped  he  was  competent.  The 
man  in  the  bow  especially  has  to 
judge  with  decision  as  to  the  watery 
way  before  him,  to  avoid  shallows,  to  look  out  for  rocks, 
and  instantly  to  obey  every  order  from  the  stern. 

When  Polycarp’s  birch,  for  the  Indians  always  use 
the  bark  canoe,  ran  close  to  the  beach,  the  bowman 
stepped  out,  as  the  way  is,  into  the  water  and  drew 
the  bark  to  the  shore.  Polycarp,  silent  as  a monk  of 
La  Trappe,  went  up  the  steps.  The  boys  were  absent, 
Miss  Anne  was  off  with  big-voiced  Tom,  and  Mr. 
Lyndsay  had  not  returned.  Carington  began  to  be 
curious.  “ Great  Scott ! ” he  exclaimed,  for  here  was 
a young  woman  coming  gaily  down  the  steps.  She 
wore  a boy’s  cap  and  carried  a basket.  Behind  her 
came  Polycarp  with  her  rods. 

It  is  the  business  of  the  bowman  to  use  his  eyes  and 
not  his  tongue.  The  former  were  now  discreetly  busy. 
I scarcely  ever  knew  a talkative  bowman.  Talk  is  the 
privilege  of  the  man  at  the  stern,  who  rarely  hesitates 
to  advise  as  to  the  handling  of  a fish,  or  to  converse 
with  easy  freedom. 


145 


146  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I scarcely  bargained  for  this,”  said  Fred  to  himself. 
“It  7s  high  comedy,  rather.  I am  in  for  it.  Here 
goes ! 77  And  he  drew  the  side  of  the  birch  close  to 
the  shore,  readjusted  a stone  or  two  of  those  placed 
for  landing  and  then  steadied  the  canoe.  Miss  Lynd- 
say  put  a hand  on  his  shoulder,  stepped  lightly  in,  and 
sat  down.  As  usual  in  this  watery  travel  the  low  seat 
for  the  fisherman  is  set  to  face  in  the  direction  in 
which  the  boat  moves,  so  as  to  give  the  view  ahead. 
When  about  to  fish  the  canoe  is  run  ashore, — beached, 
they  say, — and  the  seat  is  turned  so  as  to  look  to  the 
stern. 

“We  are  to  fish  the  upper — the  rock  pool,  Poly  carp ; 
above  the  Island  Camp  — a mile  or  so,  I believe.77 

“ Me  know.77 

“ And  you  are  to  be  careful  not  to  go  beyond  a certain 
dead  pine,  or  to  get  onto  the  water  of  the  Island  Camp. 
We  don7t  know  those  people,  and  I wish  to  be  careful.7 

“ Me  know.  Last  drop  best.  Have  to  cast  a little 
over.  No  help  it.77 

“ No,  not  a foot ! These  are  a couple  of  Boston 
gentlemen,  and  very  likely  to  be  disagreeable  as  to 
boundaries.77  Rose  was  thinking  aloud. 

Thereupon  the  bowman  was  tempted  — “ I did  hear 
tell  they  was  awful  nice  men.77 

“ Indeed ! 77  said  Rose,  not  fancying  this  reply. 

“There  won7t  nobody  know,7'  muttered  Polycarp, 
with  a chuckle. 

“You  bad  old  poacher,77  she  returned,  laughing. 
“ Here  is  some  tobacco  for  you  j you  may  smoke,  but 
I can’t  have  you  chewing.  As  to  poaching,  I hope  it 
won’t  be  necessary.77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


147 


As  she  spoke,  the  poles  clinked  as  one  on  the  rocks 
and  pebbles,  and,  keeping  close  to  shore,  they  gradu- 
ally forged  up-stream,  Rose  lying  back  at  lazy  ease, 
and  hardly  hearing  the  rare  words  of  order  or  warn- 
ing from  stern  to  bow.  By  and  by,  being,  as  I have 
said,  an  observant  young  person,  she  fell  to  noticing 
the  symmetry  and  strong  lines  of  her  bowman’s 
figure,  and  then  the  thick,  brown  half -curl  of  hair 
under  the  felt  hat.  The  action,  as  it  repeated  itself 
over  and  over,  struck  her  fancy.  She  took  at  last 
to  analyzing  the  movement,  which  beautifully  brings 
out  the  curves  of  the  tense  muscles.  She  saw  that 
poling  on  the  right  side  begins  with  the  left  hand 
above,  the  right  below ; and  that,  in  the  recover  and 
forward  lift  for  a new  hold  on  the  bottom,  the  right 
hand  is  shifted  above  the  left,  and  the  pole  is  carried 
forward  through  the  relaxed  grip  of  the  left  hand, 
and  the  push  begins  again.  At  last  she  took  out  her 
sketch-book,  and  pretty  soon  caught  a neat  likeness 
of  the  man  in  the  last  moment  of  the  forward  shove, 
when  the  balancing  power  of  the  man  in  these  un- 
steady vessels  is  the  most  severely  tried.  Her  un- 
conscious model,  now  warming  to  the  work,  had 
half  forgotten  the  awkwardness  of  the  position  in 
the  pleasure  of  this  manly  use  of  well-trained  mus- 
cles. A little  later  and  he  saw  Ellett,  as  they  sat 
down  to  take  their  paddles  to  cross  the  quieter 
water  before  the  camp,  in  order  to  win  the  farther 
shore.  “ Confound  his  impudence  ! ” said  Carington 
to  himself,  as  he  became  aware  of  his  friend  coolly 
inspecting  them  with  a field-glass  from  a bank  on  the 
margin. 


148  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Who  is  that  man  ? ” said  Miss  Lyndsay,  turning 
toward  Polycarp. 

“ Not  know  name.” 

“ Are  n’t  there  two  gentlemen  fishing  this  reach  ? 
How  much  water  have  they  ? ” 

An  Indian  usually  answers  the  last  question,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  first.  “ They  got  Mr.  George  — his 
water.  From  bogan  up  to  big  tree.” 

“ Bogan  ? What  is  that  ? ” 

“ Just  bogan,”  said  Polycarp.  His  descriptive 
powers,  as  well  as  his  English,  were  limited.  The 
word  which  puzzled  her  is  probably  an  old  English 
term.  Still  unsatisfied,  Rose  addressed  the  tall  bow- 
man. “ What  is  your  name,  bowman  ? ” 

“ Frederick,  ma’am.” 

“ But  your  whole  name  ? ” 

“ Fairfield.”  In  fact,  it  was  his  middle  name. 

“ What  is  a bogan,  Fairfield ! ” 

“ A kind  of  a little  bay  like.”  He  was  about  to  say 
a cul-de-sac,  but  stayed  his  tongue  in  time. 

“And  what  is  that  yellow  stuff  all  along  the  shore  ? 
It  looks  like  sulphur.” 

“ It ’s  the  pollen  of  the  alders.” 

“ Pollen ! ” said  Rose. 

“ Yes ; that ’s  what  the  gentlemen  calls  it.  Drops 
off  them  bushes,  ma’am.  Pullen  or  pollen  — I don’t 
rightly  mind.” 

“ Where  is  our  pool,  Polycarp  ? ” 

“ ’Most  to  it  now.” 

“ Oh,  there  are  the  burnt  lands,”  said  Rose.  “What 
a dreadfully  sad-looking  place ! ” This  was  a mere 
personal  reflection,  unaddressed ; but  the  bowman 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  149 


was  now  in  the  spirit  of  his  part,  and  made  a shy- 
cast  for  a rise  of  interest  in  his  human  freight. 

“ It  ’s  right  mournsome-like.” 

The  fish  rose.  “ What  a beautiful  word  ! Mourn- 
some  ! Fearsome  is  another  good  word  up  here.” 

“ Had  n’t  we  best  anchor  ? ” said  Carington.  “ I 
say,  Polycarp,  how  is  it?  I don’t  know  this  upper 
water.” 

Rose  took  a look  at  the  back  of  this  curly  head. 
The  voice  had  not  the  intonations  of  Gaspe,  but  rang 
out  clear  over  the  noise  of  the  rapids.  Also  the  “ a’s  ” 
were  broad,  and  there  was  a decided  south-land  note 
in  it,  with  which  Rose  was  too  unfamiliar  to  cause  sus- 
picion. Polycarp  silently  turned  the  canoe,  and  in 
a moment  beached  it.  Rose  stood;  the  chair  was 
shifted,  and  now  in  a few  moments  they  were  at  the 
top  of  the  pool,  a swift  flow  of  dark  water  all  around 
them. 

“Anchor — drop,”  said  Poly  carp,  as  they  swung  to 
the  current.  “ Keepee  hold  short.” 

The  stream  was  a hundred  yards  wide.  The  hills 
rose  high  to  right,  and  already  a favoring  shadow 
was  on  the  pool.  Rose  had  lost  much  time  by  reason 
of  this  trouble  about  the  bowman.  It  was  well  on 
toward  evening.  A fish  leaped  below  and  then  an- 
other. It  was  of  a truth  most  beautiful,  and  the  man 
in  the  bow,  who  was  now  behind  Rose,  was  longing 
to  say  as  much,  but  Rose  was  intent  on  other  mat- 
ters. A moderate-sized  Jock  Scott  was  adjusted,  and 
she  began  to  cast, — still  awkwardly  enough. 

“ I must  stand,”  said  Rose.  Then  she  cast  better, 
but  still  in  vain.  An  hour  went  by.  Two  people 
10* 


150  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

were  beginning  to  consider  it  a little  dull.  At  last 
once  more  Polycarp  said,  “ Drop  ! 77  Rose  laid  her 
rod  on  the  thwarts,  as  they  slid  down  some  thirty 
feet,  the  fly  and  leader  hanging  in  the  water,  and  the 
butt  behind  her.  Of  a sudden  there  was  a mad 
splash,  the  reel  ran  out,  and  the  bowman,  catching 
the  butt,  raised  the  rod,  and,  leaning  over  her,  put  it 
in  her  hands.  “ Take  care  ! 77  he  said,  “ he  7s  off/7 
and  away  he  went  across  the  water. 

“ How  splendid ! 77  cried  Rose,  as  she  lowered  the 
tip,  when  the  fish  made  a mighty  leap,  eighty  feet 
away,  and  his  silvery  arched  form  fell  amidst  foam 
onto  the  dark  waves. 

“ Look  out ! More  jump  ! 77  cried  the  Indian ; and 
again  the  reel  clicked  busily. 

“Reel!  Reel!77  said  the  bowman.  “Well  done, 
miss  ! Reel ! Logs  coming,  Polycarp  ! 77  It  was  true. 
A half-dozen  dark  logs  were  coming  down  on  them. 

“ Darn  logs  ! 77  said  the  Indian,  much  excited.  “ You 
hold  hard  now.  Tip  up  ! 77 

“ Yes.  Tip  up  ! tip  up  ! 77  cried  Carington.  “ There, 
can  you  hold  him  ? If  you  can7t,  he  will  get  the  line 
among  the  logs.77  They  were  now  out  of  the  current 
in  a side  eddy.  “ So  — so  ! Hold  there,  Polycarp  ! If 
he  waits  a half-minute  before  he  runs,  we  shall  have 
him.  Good!  He  7s  coming!  Now  lift  him,  miss! 
Well  done ! Reel ! Reel ! These  running  fish  don7t 
last.77 

“See  belly, — much  dead.  Yah/7  said  the  Indian; 
and  the  gaff  was  in,  and,  amidst  laughter  and  wild 
splashing,  which  covered  her  with  water,  a fine  salmon 
was  in  the  boat. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  151 


“Admirably  done,  miss  ! ” said  Carington.  “ That 
was  well  handled.”  Then  he  added,  “ Them  fresh-rnn 
fish  is  tough  uns.” 

Rose  began,  even  amid  her  tire  and  excitement,  to 
be  a little  puzzled.  However,  they  went  back  to  the 
same  drop,  and  the  casting  went  on  as  before.  A half- 
hour  passed.  It  was  now  long  after  six  o’clock. 

“ See  him  rise,  ma’am  ? ” said  Polycarp.  “ Best  fish- 
heap  late,  heap  best  fish.” 

She  cast  again,  and  this  time  saw  the  swirl  in  the 
water  and  a glance  of  white. 

“ Much  hungry  ! ” 

After  a little  while  the  fly  was  changed,  and  then 
again,  until  at  last  the  first  fly  was  tried  anew. 

“ No  good ! He  no  come ! ” 

“ Hold  on  a moment,”  said  Carington.  “ Try  this  ” ; 
and  he  took  from  his  head  his  soft  felt  hat  and  threw 
it  over  to  Polycarp.  “ There  7s  a fly  in  the  band : try 
that.  It  is  a white  miller.” 

“ No  good ! ” said  Polycarp  ; but  he  put  it  on.  The 
next  moment  Rose  saw  a fish  dart  sideways  through 
the  water,  and  with  open  mouth  take  the  fly.  Then 
the  anchor  was  up,  and  the  fish  away  for  a wild  run 
down-stream,  the  reel  whizzing,  pausing,  and  whizzing 
again.  For  a half-hour  of  running  and  reeling  this 
went  on.  At  length  the  fish  hung  out  steadily  in  the 
strong  water,  his  head  to  the  current,  while  Rose  with 
all  her  power  held  him. 

“ These  runs  down-stream  are  rare,”  said  Carington; 
“ How  strong  he  is  ! ” 

For  an  hour  the  sky  had  been  overcast,  and  the 
river-bed  in  the  nest  of  hills  was  fast  growing  dim. 


152  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Are  yon  tired?  ” said  the  bowman.  “ Shall  I take 
the  rod  ? It  might  spell  you.” 

“ Oh,  no  ! Thank  you  ! No.” 

“ Give  him  a little  line  — so,  slowly  ; but  be  careful. 
Drop  the  tip  a little.  It  may  tempt  him  to  run  again. 
No  ! How  he  holds  on  ! Might  I suggest,  Miss  Lynd- 
say,” — he  had  quite  forgotten  his  part  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  contest, — “may  I suggest  that  we  drop 
below  him  ? ” 

This  was  tried.  The  fish  came  duly  down-stream. 
The  canoe  was  again  brought  to  the  bank,  and  again 
there  was  the  salmon  out  in  the  heavy  water.  Each 
motion  of  his  tail  revealed  itself  by  a single  “ click, 
click  ” of  the  reel.  It  was  now  dusk. 

“ It  is  that  limp  rod  : it  has  no  power,”  said  Caring- 
ton,  and,  reaching  over,  he  caught  a few  small  stones 
from  the  bank,  and  threw  them  at  the  point  where  at 
the  end  of  a perilously  tense  line  the  fish  still  held  his 
place. 

“No  much  good  ! ” 

At  last  she  got  in  a little  line.  The  salmon  was 
now  not  over  twenty  feet  from  her  rod-tip ; but  she 
could  no  longer  see,  and  it  was  near  to  eight  o’clock, 
and,  by  reason  of  the  coming  storm,  far  more  dark 
than  usual  at  that  hour. 

“I  shall  be  eaten  by  the  sand-flies,”  said  Rose. 
“ How  they  bite ! ” It  was  now  too  dark  to  see  line 
or  rod-tip. 

“ Hold  her,  Polycarp,”  said  the  bowman.  “ I will 
make  a smudge.”  And  in  a moment  a thick  smoke 
was  whirling  from  the  beach,  and  cast  around  her  by 
the  rising  wind.  Then,  of  a sudden,  the  smudge, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  153 


blown  into  ruddy  flame,  sent  a long  flare  of  light 
across  the  water.  In  an  instant  the  line  came  home. 

“ He  is  gone ! ” cried  Rose,  in  accents  of  despair. 

“No ! no ! ” cried  Carington,  from  the  beach : “ reel ! ” 

The  fish,  caught  by  the  light,  had  rushed  wildly  to- 
ward it,  and  run  his  nose  onto  the  shore.  The  bow- 
man, catching  first  a handful  of  gravel,  seized  it  by 
the  tail,  and  threw  it  high  up  onto  the  shore,  the 
rod-tip  snapping  as  Rose  threw  it  back  of  her. 

“Did  any  one  ever  see  the  like? 77  said  Carington. 

“Me  see  — twice  — two  time,”  said  the  Indian,  as 
he  took  the  spring  balance  from  the  fishing-basket. 

“Oh,  this  is  fishing!”  cried  Rose.  “It  must  be 
quite  two  hours ! I know  what  papa  will  say.  He 
will  say,  1 Bad  fishing ! 7 77 

“But  I assure  you,”  said  Carington,  from  the 
darkened  shore,  eight  or  ten  feet  away,  “ I can  assure 
you  no  one  could  have  handled  that  fish  better ! ” 

At  this  Rose  was  struck  silent,  and  now  she  wanted 
to  get  a good  look  at  this  eccentric  bowman. 

“ No  see,”  said  Polycarp;  “’bout  twenty-nine  pound; 
got  match  ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” she  exclaimed,  for  now  in  an  instant  there 
fell  a fury  of  driving  rain,  which  struck  her  on  the 
face  and  hands  like  spent  shot. 

“ Let  me  help  you,”  said  Carington.  “ Here.  How 
dark  it  is ! Take  my  hand.  This  spruce  will  hold 
off  the  rain  a while.”  Rose  leaped  out  in  haste. 

“ It  won’t  last,”  added  the  bowman. 

“But  what  does  my  fish  weigh?  Could  n’t  you 
strike  a match  and  see?  I want  to  know.” 

“ Certainly,  ma’am ! ” he  said,  urgently  sensible  of 


154  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

the  need  to  get  back  into  character.  “ Best  get  it 
weighed  soon.  Them  fish  drops  weight  a lot.”  So 
saying,  he  took  out  a silver  match-box,  and,  taking 
three  matches  together,  struck  them  on  his  corduroys, 
and  hastily  covered  them  with  the  cavern  every 
smoker  knows  how  to  make  with  his  hands.  The 
wind  put  them  out  at  once. 

“ No  good ! ” said  Polycarp. 

“But  I must  know  what  my  fish  weighs,”  urged 
this  persistent  young  woman. 

“ Of  course,  ma’am  ! ” said  the  much-amused  Car- 
in  gton. 

It  had  become  suddenly  still  darker.  Above  them 
the  storm  roared,  as  it  tossed  the  plumes  of  the  un- 
seen tree-tops,  and  the  spruce  was  no  longer  a cover. 
Miss  Lyndsay  squirmed,  and  gave  a little  laugh,  as 
more  and  more  insolent  drops  crawled  down  her  back. 

“ Do  hurry,”  she  said,  “ my  good  man.” 

Meanwhile,  Carington  again  lit  a match,  this  time 
in  the  shelter  of  his  hat,  and  kindled  the  resinous 
tips  of  a pine-branch  he  had  torn  away. 

“Thirty-one  pounds  and  over — say  thirty-two.” 
As  he  spoke  he  held  up  the  fiercely  blazing  branch, 
so  that  its  red-and-orange  light  flared  over  the  water, 
and,  seen  in  a million  drops,  cast  for  a moment  dan- 
cing shadows  through  the  dense  woodlands  back  of 
them.  In  this  wild  light  the  Indian’s  visage  stood 
out  like  some  antique  bronze,  and  she  saw  for  the 
first  time  clearly  a smiling  brown  face,  clean  shaven 
except  for  a slight  mustache.  The  bowman  threw 
the  branch  on  the  water,  where  it  sparkled  a mo- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  155 


ment,  and  said,  cheerfully,  “Will  the  canoe  live  in 
this  wind,  Poly  carp  ? ” 

“ Not  know ! Big  much  blow ! ” 

“ Confound  it ! 77  said  the  bowman.  “ I think  we 
had  better  wait  a bit,  ma’am.  Kind  of  rains  like 
them  clouds  was  buckets  turned  upside  down.  It 
can’t  last.  Are  you  gettin’  wet,  ma’am  ? 77 

“ No,  I am  wet,”  said  Rose.  “ Mama  will  be  so  un- 
easy. Could  n’t  we  go  ? We  must  go  ! How  long 
will  it  last?” 

Polycarp  was  silent,  and  the  deluge  went  on  pat- 
tering on  the  maples,  humming  softly  on  the  water 
when  the  wind  ceased,  and  the  intervals  of  quiet  let 
into  the  ear  the  myriad  noises  of  the  falling  drops. 
Rose  set  her  soul  to  be  patient.  She  was  now  too 
cold  for  comfort,  and  very  hopelessly  soaked.  But 
it  was  like  her  to  say,  “ It  is  nobody’s  fault,  and, 
after  all,  it  is  great  fun.”  Then  Carington,  liking 
the  courage  and  good  sense  of  the  woman,  forgot 
himself  again. 

“ Don’t  you  think  it  is  a little  difficult  sometimes 
to  say  just  where  amusement  ends,  and  — the  other 
thing  begins  ? ” 

“ What  other  thing  ? ” said  Rose,  too  wet  and  shiv- 
ering to  be  acutely  critical. 

“ Oh — discomfort ! ” 

“But  I think  one  may  be  both  amused  and  un- 
comfortable.” 

“Guess  that  ’s  so,  miss,”  said  the  actor.  “It  is 
holding  up  a little.  The  clouds  are  breaking.  By 
George!  we  have  a moon— -a  bit  of  one!” 


156  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Go  now,”  said  the  sternman,  as  he  tilted  the 
canoe  to  rid  it  of  water. 

“ Can  we  risk  it  ? Are  you  sure  ? ” said  Rose. 

Carington  smiled.  He  was  about  to  add,  gaily, 
“ Miss  Lyndsay’s  carriage  stops  the  way.”  He  did  say, 
“ All  right,  ma’am.  It  rains  a mawsel,  but  the  wind  ?s 
nigh  done.  We  ?d  have  risked  it  alone.  All  ready?” 

In  a moment  they  were  away,  in  the  power  of  the 
great  river’s  night  march  to  the  sea.  Never  had 
Rose  felt  as  full  a sense  of  this  vast  energy  of  resist- 
less water.  Again,  as  once  before,  she  realized  the 
feeling  of  being  walled  in  by  darkness.  Then  there 
came  the  fierce  rush  through  white  water,  and  things 
like  gray  hands  tossed  up  to  right  and  left. 

“ Look  sharp  for  salmon  pillow,”  said  the  Indian. 

“ Yes,  yes ! ” cried  Carington,  intent  on  the  stream 
before  him,  silent,  a little  anxious.  “ Left ! left ! ” he 
cried.  And  Rose  saw  close  by,  as  they  fled  on,  a huge 
lift  of  waves,  and  then  again  they  were  away  in  a 
more  quiet  current,  and  the  moon  was  out  and  the 
torn  clouds  were  racing  across  its  steady  silver. 

“ Here  ’s  a paddle,  ma’am,”  said  the  bowman.  “ Try 
to  use  it ; it  will  keep  you  warm.” 

“Thanks,”  she  returned.  “What  a good  idea, 
Fairfield!”  And  now  in  a few  moments  she  was 
more  and  more  comfortable,  and  in  proportion  in- 
clined to  talk  and  reflect.  She  concluded  that  the 
bowman  must  have  been  thrown  much  with  gentle- 
men in  the  fishing-season.  She  wondered  if,  on  the 
whole,  it  was  good  for  a man  in  his  position  to  see 
the  easy  comfort  of  camps,  the  free  use  of  money, 
and  then  to  fall  back  into  the  hardships  and  ex- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  157 


posures  of  the  winter  lumbering.  The  man  puzzled 
her  a little  as  she  tried  to  reconcile  him  as  he  at 
times  had  appeared  with  what  she  knew  must  be 
his  common  existence. 

“Is  lumbering  hard  work,  Fairfield?”  She  was 
now  seated  so  as  again  to  face  his  back. 

“ The  woods,  ma’am,  is  it,  or  the  drive  ? ” He  was 
safe  here.  No  man  knew  better  this  wood-life. 

“ Oh!— both” 

“The  spring  drive  is  pretty  stiff  work;  beats  a 
circus,  ma’am,  jumpin’  from  log  to  log  in  quick 
water.  Ever  see  a circus  ? ” he  added,  with  ingenu- 
ous innocence. 

“ Of  course,  often.” 

“ I ’d  like  to  see  a circus.  I did  hear  tell  of  one 
once.  There ’s  the  lights.  Best  let  them  know  ” — 
and  he  smote  the  waters  with  the  flat  of  his  paddle. 
“ Guess  they  ’ll  hear  that.” 

The  next  moment  they  ran  on  to  the  beach,  where 
Mr.  Lyndsay  was  standing.  He  had  been  somewhat 
anxious,  but  had  laughed  at  the  women’s  fears. 

“ All  right,  Rosy  ? ” he  said.  “ Go  up  at  once  and 
change  your  clothes.  You  must  be  wet  through.” 

“ I am  all  right,  papa,  and  two  such  salmon ; one 
took  nearly  two  hours ! ” 

“ Up  with  you.” 

“ Yes,  Pardy.  Don’t  forget  to  pay  the  man.  He 
has  been  most  capable  and  very  thoughtful.  I should 
like  to  keep  him  always.” 

“ What  fun  ! ” thought  the  bowman. 

“ Need  n’t  mind,  sir.  I can  come  down  for  it  ’most 
any  time.” 


158  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I have  no  change,  Rose,”  said  her  father.  11  How 
much  is  it  ? Oh,  a dollar,  I think  I said.  Come  down 
to-morrow,  and  ask  the  cook  now  to  give  you  some 
tobacco.” 

u Thank  you,  sir,  I does  n’t  smoke — at  present,”  he 
added  to  himself. 

“ Stop,  papa ! ” cried  Rose.  “ It  is  absurd  to  bring 
this  poor  fellow  all  the  way  back  for  a dollar.  I have 
my  portemonnaie.”  So  saying,  she  searched  it  in  the 
dark. 

“Have  you  got  it?  Hurry,  Rose.  You  will  take 
cold.  Bother  the  child.  How  persistent  you  are  ! ” 

Her  fingers  encountered  only  a bundle  of  notes  of 
amounts  not  to  be  known  in  the  gloom,  and  then,  in 
a [pocket  apart,  a little  gold  dollar  — a luck-penny, 
kept  for  its  rarity.  She  hesitated,  but,  being  chilly 
and  in  haste,  said,  “ Here  is  a dollar,  my  man.  It  is 
one  of  our  old-fashioned  gold  dollars;  but  it  is  all 
right.  I am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  If  I want 
you  again,  can  you  come  ? ” 

“ Maybe,  ma’am.  Depends  on  the  lumber-boss.” 

“ Well,  good  night.” 

“ Good  night,  ma’am.” 

“ Do  come,  Rose.” 

“That  ’s  an  odd  sort  of  a man,  Pardy,”  said  the 
young  woman,  while  the  canoe  sped  away,  and  the 
odd  sort  of  a man  said : 

“ Set  me  ashore  at  the  ox-path ; no,  at  the  brow 
above.  I ’ll  walk  up.  I am  soaked.  I shall  take 
Colkett’s  dugout  and  cross  at  my  camp.  Here ’s  an- 
other dollar,  you  old  saint,  and  if  ever  you  tell,  I will 
scalp  you ! ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


159 


u All  right,  Mr.  Carington.” 

“Well/7  exclaimed  that  gentleman,  as  he  strode 
away,  u if  that  was  n’t  fun,  there  is  n’t  decent  cause 
left  for  a laugh  in  the  universe.”  Then  he  lit  a pipe, 
inspected  by  its  dim  light  the  gold  dollar,  and,  smil- 
ing, carefully  put  it  away  in  a safe  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XI 


HE  transmutation  of  the  emotions  or 
the  passions  into  one  another  is 
among  the  mysteries  of  the  sphere 
of  morals.  In  some  natures,  even 
the  most  sacred  grief,  the  outcome 
of  a child’s  death,  I have  seen  capa- 
ble of  change  into  anger  at  a world  in  which  such 
things  are  possible. 

Susan  had  loved  her  sturdy  little  boy  with  unrea- 
soning ardor,  and  indulged  him  to  the  utmost  limit 
their  scant  means  allowed.  He  had  been  like  her 
in  face,  and  this  pleased  her.  He  had,  too,  her  mas- 
culine vigor,  and  seemed  more  bone  of  her  bone  than 
the  two  idiots  who  had  gone  early  to  the  grave. 

She  sat  just  within  the  doorway,  rocking.  The 
chair  creaked  at  each  strong  impulse  of  her  foot.  An 
oblong  of  sunshine  lay  at  her  feet,  and  in  it  a faded 
crape  bonnet,  last  relic  of  a day  when  prosperity  could 
afford  to  grief  a uniform.  It  had  turned  up  in  her 
vain  search  after  a decent  garment  for  the  dead.  As 
she  continued  to  rock  with  violence,  the  loose  planks 
of  the  floor  moving,  a toy  ark,  the  gift  of  Dorothy  to 
the  boy,  fell  from  a shelf.  Noah  and  his  maimed 
beasts  tumbled  out,  and  lay  on  their  sides  in  the  sun. 

She  took  no  note  of  the  scattered  menagerie. 

160 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  161 


The  room  was  in  no  worse  than  its  usual  disar- 
ray, with  no  sign  of  that  terrible  precision  which  we  as- 
sociate with  the  death-chamber.  At  last  she  rose 
quickly,  and,  pushing  the  toys  and  bonnet  aside  with 
an  impatient  foot,  left  the  rocking-chair  in  motion, 
and  trod  heavily  up  and  down  the  room,  opening 
and  shutting  her  hands  as  she  walked.  She  fed  her 
rage  with  each  look  she  cast  on  her  dead  boy. 

A far  gentler  woman  once  said  to  me  that  there 
was  for  her  in  her  child’s  death  the  brutality  of  in- 
sult. Some  such  feeling  was  now  at  work  with 
Susan  Colkett. 

In  her  younger  life  she  had  lived  on  a farm  in 
upper  Canada,  a tall,  pretty,  slim  girl,  quick  of 
tongue,  unruly,  and  with  an  undeveloped  and  sensual 
liking  for  luxury  and  ease.  Then  she  married  a man 
well  enough  off  to  have  given  her  a comfortable  life. 
A certain  incapacity  to  see  consequences,  with  that 
form  of  fearlessness  which  is  without  fear  until  the 
results  of  action  or  inaction  are  too  evident,  led  her 
to  be  careless  of  debts.  Then  her  husband  drank, 
and  grew  weary  of  her  tornadoes  of  unreasoning 
anger;  the  idiot  children  came,  and  she  began  to 
think  of  what  even  yet  she  might  realize  for  herself 
if  he  were  dead.  Making  no  effort  to  stop  him,  she 
let  him  go  his  way,  seeing  without  one  restraining 
word  the  growth  of  a deadly  habit.  Dorothy  had 
said  that  she  helped  his  downward  course  even  more 
actively.  His  death  left  her  penniless,  but  free.  Men 
were  unwilling,  however,  to  face  her  wild  temper,  and 
when,  at  last,  her  looks  were  fast  fading,  to  help  the 
only  things  in  the  world  she  cared  for,  she  took  the 
n 


162 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


stout  little  man  who  had  for  her  from  his  youth  an 
unchanging  affection.  Misfortune  taught  her  no 
good  lessons.  Even  now  she  hated  work,  loved  ease, 
and  lacked  imagination  to  picture  consequences. 
Amidst  the  animal  distress  her  child’s  death  occa- 
sioned, she  was  still  capable  of  entertaining  the 
thought  of  crime;  in  fact,  her  loss  contributed  a 
new  impulse  in  the  storm  of  fury  it  evoked.  They 
were  close  to  the  end  of  their  resources.  There  is 
in  Paris  a Place  St.  Opportune.  Who  this  saint  was, 
I know  not.  His  biography  might  be  of  interest. 
There  is  probably  a fallen  angel  of  the  same  name 
who  makes  the  paths  of  virtue  slippery.  Crime  had 
been  near  to  this  woman  for  years,  and  ever  nearer 
since  disaster  had  been  a steady  companion.  She 
had  lacked  opportunity,  and  that  alone.  Nor  was 
this  the  only  time  she  had  cast  temptation  in  the 
way  of  her  simple-minded  husband. 

At  last,  as,  striding  to  and  fro,  she  went  by  the 
doorway,  she  saw  Dorothy,  and  with  her  a thin  man 
in  shining,  much-worn,  black  alpaca  clothing. 

She  knew  at  once  that  he  was  the  preacher  who 
had  been  brought  up  from  Mackenzie  to  bury  her 
child. 

Upon  this  she  turned  back  into  the  room,  and 
stood  a moment  by  the  two  chairs  on  which  lay  the 
pine  box  which  Joe  had  made.  The  little  fellow 
within  it  had  been  hardly  changed  by  his  brief  ill- 
ness. He  was  fair  to  see;  white,  and  strongly  mod- 
eled; and  now  he  was  beautiful  with  the  double 
refinements  of  youth  and  death.  She  touched  his 
cheek  as  if  to  test  the  reality  of  death,  and  then 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


163 


kissed  him,  and,  laying  over  him  the  rnde  cover, 
turned  away. 

At  the  door  she  met  Dorothy  and  the  minister. 
Dorothy  said,  “ Good  morning,  Susan.77 

“You  7ve  been  a heap  of  time  comin7.77 

Dorothy,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Colkett,  did  not  enter, 
but  stepped  to  one  side  and,  leaning  against  the  log 
wall,  waited.  The  little  man  in  the  worn  alpaca  suit 
was  stopped  as  he  turned  to  go  in  by  the  gaunt  form 
of  his  hostess. 

“ There  ain7t  no  need  to  go  in  or  to  preach,77  she 
said. 

Upon  this  Dorothy  plucked  at  his  coat-skirt,  and, 
much  embarrassed,  he  fell  back,  saying,  “ That  7s  as 
friends  please.77 

Then  Joe  came  from  the  cow-shed  and  went  in  past 
his  wife.  As  he  went  by,  he  nodded  cheerfully  to 
Dorothy  and  to  the  preacher.  “ 7Most  ready  ; won7t 
be  long.77 

Mrs.  Colkett  stood  looking  across  the  clearing. 
The  preacher,  uneasily  moving  to  and  fro,  at  last  ap- 
proached her  again.  “ My  sister,77  he  said,  “ the  hand 
of  the  Lord  has  been  heavy  on  this  household  of  his 
people.77  From  her  great  height  Susan  Colkett  cast 
her  eyes  down  on  the  wan  little  person  below  her. 
“ It  is  fit,77  he  went  on,  “ that  while  — 77 

“ Look  here,77  said  Susan ; “ you  7ve  come  to  bury 
that  child,  and  that  7s  all  you  7re  here  for.  Just  set 
down  and  wait 77 ; and  so  saying,  she  brought  out  two 
crippled  chairs. 

Dorothy  said,  “ No,  I will  stand.77 

The  preacher  sat  down  without  a word,  and  found 


164  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

occupation  in  keeping  his  place,  as  the  chair-legs 
bored  unequally  into  the  soft  soil.  At  last,  greatly 
troubled,  he  looked  toward  Dorothy  for  consolation, 
and,  receiving  none,  at  last  fell  on  his  knees  in  deep 
despair.  “ Oh,  Lord ! ” he  cried,  “ move  the  heart  of 
this  woman  that  she  may  receive  the  message  of  thy 
grace ! ” and  on  this  Dory  too  knelt  in  the  sunshine, 
while  Susan  turned  and  went  into  the  house. 

Then  there  arose  within  the  rude  noise  of  loud 
hammering,  and,  utterly  confused,  the  unhappy 
preacher  looked  up,  and  saw  that  he  was  alone 
with  Dorothy. 

“What  manner  of  people  are  these ?”  he  said,  as 
they  both  arose.  “I  must  speak  to  her,”  and  he 
moved  toward  the  door. 

“I  would  n?t,”  said  Dorothy,  touching  his  coat. 
“Not  now.  Another  time.” 

He  said  no  more,  and  the  pair  stayed  without, 
waiting  with  no  further  words,  while  the  hammering 
went  on.  At  last  it  ceased.  Joe  came  out,  wringing 
a finger.  “ I kind  of  mashed  it,”  he  said,  in  an  ex- 
planatory voice.  “Susie  ?s  ready.”  He  went  back, 
and  soon  came  out  again  with  the  white  box  held  in 
front  of  him  on  his  two  outstretched  arms. 

The  mother  followed,  looking  straight  before  her 
— a strange,  high-colored,  set  face,  the  tightly  shut 
jaw  making  hard  lines  in  the  lower  cheek-curves. 
The  meager  preacher  came  after  with  a book  in  his 
hand,  and  Dorothy  followed. 

In  the  woods  Joe  stumbled  once,  and  a moment 
after  set  down  his  strange  burden  and  wrung  his 
hurt  finger.  Then  he  went  on  again  into  the  deeper 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  165 


woodland,  and  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
house  stopped  and  set  the  box  on  a level  stump. 
Before  them  were  two  crumbled  mounds  of  earth, 
and  beyond  a small  open  grave,  not  over-deep. 

The  clergyman  came  forward. 

"I  might  put  it  in?”  said  Joe,  interrogatively. 

“ Yes,”  said  Dorothy.  “ Let  me  help.”  And,  taking 
the  coffin  at  each  end,  they  let  it  down,  for  the  grave 
was  shallow. 

“ Them  roots  is  in  the  way;  they  bothered  me 
when  I was  a-diggin',”  said  Joe. 

“ Hush ! ” exclaimed  Dorothy.  “ Hush ! ” 

As  they  stood  up,  the  minister  went  on  to  read  his 
simple  burial  service.  Susan  Colkett  paid,  or  seemed 
to  pay,  intense  attention.  At  last  he  ceased,  and  all 
stood  still  a moment  in  the  deep  wood-shadows,  for 
the  twilight  was  near  at  hand.  There  was  a little  stir 
as  Dorothy  took  from  her  handkerchief  a handful  of 
roses  and  let  them  fall  into  the  open  grave.  Susan 
looked  at  her  a moment,  and  then,  turning  to  the 
preacher,  said,  coldly : 

“ Is  that  all  of  it  ? I don't  want  none  left  out.” 
“Yes” 

“ Don't  rich  people  have  no  more  said  than  that  ? ” 

“No;  that  is  all,”  he  replied,  much  astonished. 
“ Would  n't  you  like  me  to  talk  to  you  at  the  house  ? ” 

“No,  I would  n't.  My  man  he  '11  pay  you.”  And 
she  walked  away.  The  minister  wiped  his  brow,  and 
sat  down  on  a stump,  while  Dorothy  waited,  and  Joe 
calmly  began  to  fill  up  the  little  grave. 

He  paused  once  to  give  the  minister  the  cost  of  his 
journey,  and  then  went  on. 

11* 


166  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Come,”  said  Mrs.  Maybrook.  “ No  ; don’t  go  in,” 
she  added,  as  they  passed  the  cabin.  “ Let  her  alone.” 

“ The  Lord  has  made  my  errand  hard,”  he  said. 

“ No ) he  has  n’t  took  a hand  in  the  matter  at  all,” 
she  said.  “ It ’s  the  devil ! Come ! ” And  they  dis- 
appeared in  the  darkening  wood-spaces. 

Before  Joe  had  quite  done,  he  was  aware  of  his 
wife  again  standing  beside  him. 

“What  ’s  wrong?”  he  said.  “Best  wait  in  the 
house.  I ’ll  come.  And  don’t  bother  none  for  the 
supper.  I ’ll  cook  it.” 

“ Could  n’t  you  set  a board  over  the  boy  ? ” she  said. 

“Yes.” 

“ They  ’re  just  buried  like  dead  dogs ! ” 

“ I ’ll  git  somethin’.” 

“ What ’s  the  use,  anyhow  ? If  you  were  any  good 
of  a man,  there ’d  be  a decent  white  stone  like  them 
Lyndsays  has  set.” 

“ Oh,  I ’ll  find  somethin',  Susie  ! I ’ll  think  about 
it.”  He  was  anxious  to  get  through  with  it  all,  and 
somewhere  deep  in  his  mind  was  moved  by  her  want. 

“ It  ain’t  no  use  thinking,”  she  said,  “ when  you ’ve 
got  no  money.”  And  so,  at  last,  she  went  away  once 
more  to  the  wretchedness  they  called  home,  leaving 
him  to  complete  his  task. 

It  was  now  dusk.  He  sat  down  on  a log,  and  wiped 
his  brow  with  his  sleeve.  There  was  a little  tobacco 
left  in  his  pouch.  He  lit  a pipe,  and  sat  awhile  in 
dull  rumination,  like  some  slow  ox,  recalling  her 
words.  At  last  he  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  stood  up,  as  one  set  on  the  clear  track  of  an  idea. 
A difficulty  occurred  to  him. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


167 


“ I ’ll  do  it.  No  one  won’t  know.  There  don’t  no- 
body come  here.”  A moment  later  a new  obstacle 
arose  is  his  mind,  and  he  resumed  his  pipe  and  his 
seat. 

u That  ’ll  do,”  he  said.  “ I ’ll  get  Dory  to  help. 
She  won’t  think  for  to  suspect  none.”  And  so,  much 
cheered  by  the  prospect  of  pleasing  his  wife,  he  went 
away  to  the  cow-shed. 

His  had  been  a poor,  loveless  life.  An  orphan  boy, 
he  had  never  possessed  ability  or  power  to  win  affec- 
tion or  respect  for  anything  except  his  muscles.  Yet 
a canine  capacity  to  love  without  question  was  in  him, 
and  the  tall,  gaunt  woman  who  alone  had  put  out  a 
hand  of  apparent  trust  to  him  had  all  of  his  simple 
attachment. 

Now  he  extinguished  his  pipe,  knocked  it  on  a tree 
to  shake  out  the  live  ashes,  put  it  in  his  pocket  de- 
cisively, and  went  back  to  the  house. 

He  had  a sense  of  satisfaction  in  the  notion  that  he 
would  surprise  his  wife  with  fulfilment  of  her  de- 
sires : also  he  felt  surprise,  and  as  much  elation  as  he 
was  capable  of,  at  his  own  skill  in  seeing  his  way 
through  this  enterprise.  What  she,  the  poor  hurt 
mother,  wanted  was  now  in  single  possession  of  a 
mind  little  able  to  transact  mental  business  with  more 
than  one  importunate  creditor  at  a time. 

To  take  what  is  not  your  own  is  common  enough. 
The  higher  criminal  mind  disposes  of  the  matter  with 
some  sophistry  as  to  the  right  to  have  a share  in  the 
unjust  excess  of  another’s  property.  The  utterly  im- 
moral nature  gives  it  no  thought,  save  how  to  act 
with  safety.  The  lowest  type  of  man  is  untroubled 


168 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


as  to  the  ethics  of  thieving,  and  as  little  as  to  per- 
sonal results.  The  idea  that  another  might  suffer  in 
proportion  to  what  his  own  wife  would  gain  never 
passed  the  threshold  of  this  poor  fellow’s  conscious- 
ness. What  he  was  about  to  do  seemed  to  him  easy 
and  safe.  He  was  certain  that  Susie  would  like  it, 
and  would  think  him  more  of  a man.  And  that 
was  all. 


CHAPTER  XII 


R.  LYNDSAY,  as  we  now  know, 
came  back  without  having  seen  Mr. 
Carington.  His  purpose  was,  how- 
ever, unchanged.  Yet,  as  there  was 
no  immediate  need  to  act,  and  no 
present  danger,  he  concluded  to 
wait,  quite  sure  that  the  two  gentlemen  on  whom  he 
had  called  must,  when  they  returned  his  courtesy, 
give  him  an  easy  chance  to  say  to  Carington  what  he 
had  heard.  Thus  having  decided  what  to  do,  and 
that  delay  involved  no  possibility  of  mischief,  he  put 
it  all  aside  for  the  time. 

Meanwhile,  the  Island  Camp  was  the  scene  of 
amusing  debate.  The  next  morning,  as  they  lay  on 
their  tent  mattresses  and  smoked  that  most  blissful 
first  love  of  the  day,  the  after-breakfast  pipe,  Ellett 
took  up  the  talk  of  the  night  before. 

“ I told  you  that  you  would  get  in  a scrape.” 

“ It  was  n’t  that.  c My  lands ! 7 as  Mrs.  May  brook 
says,  what  a noble  adventure ! If  I only  could  do  it 
again!  No,  I don’t  repent.  Far  from  it;  I would 
like  to  do  it  again.  It  was  just  too  altogether  de- 
licious, as  the  girls  say.” 

“ But  you  will  have  to  call.  Mr.  Lyndsay  has  been 
to  see  you,  and  go  to  see  him  you  must,  if  I have  to 
carry  you ! ” 


169 


170  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“But  I can’t  and  I won’t!  I am  a bad  boy.  Just 
now  it  is  all  a beautiful  and  adventurous  dream.  I 
don’t  want  to  see  that  woman  again — ever.  It  would 
spoil  the  romance  of  it.  Go  yourself.  You  can  drop 
down  in  mid-morning.  No  one  will  be  in.  Leave  my 
card  on  the  table.” 

“What  stuff,  Fred ! You  can’t  get  out  of  it.  Mr. 
Lyndsay  wants  to  see  you.  He  called  on  you,  not 
on  me.” 

“ But  I don’t  want  to  see  him.  Imagine  my  having 
to  explain  and  apologize,  and  fetch  the  whole  thing 
down  to  the  dreary  level  of  prose.  I am  ill;  I am 
dead ; I shall  go  home  — anything  ! ” 

He  was  at  his  high  level  of  reckless  enjoyment  of  a 
delightful  indiscretion,  and  a part  of  his  delight  lay 
in  the  distress  it  occasioned  his  soberly  conventional 
friend.  He  was  himself,  in  truth,  a graver  man  than 
Ellett,  but  took  into  his  work  as  a successful  engineer 
the  same  gaiety  which  ran  riot  in  his  holiday  hours. 
It  had  its  value  with  the  men  who  did  work  under  his 
eyes,  and  helped  him  and  them  over  some  hard  places. 
At  need  he  became  instantly  a cool,  watchful,  cau- 
tious man,  with  the  bearing  and  reserve  of  middle 
life.  To  those  who  saw  him  only  in  his  utter  aban- 
donment of  glee,  ready  as  a boy  for  any  merry  enter- 
prise, and  by  no  means  disliking  it  the  more  if  it 
brought  physical  risks,  it  was  hardly  conceivable  that 
he  should  be,  back  of  all  this,  a man  of  strong  opin- 
ions, political  and  religious,  of  definite  views,  and  of 
an  almost  fantastic  sense  of  honor. 

“ Can’t  you  be  decently  quiet  a moment,  and  think 
a little?” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  171 


u Don’t  want  to,”  returned  Carington.  “ Git  away 
wid  ye ! You  are  like  Eve : you  want  to  introduce  a 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  into  this  Eden  of  mine. 
Go,  fish  and  let  me  alone.  I want  to  dream  it  over : 
that  scene  in  the  wood,  the  rain,  the  wild  orange, 
light  for  a minute,  that  copper-head  saint.  It  was 
really  great,  Oliver!  Beats  the  Bowery  Theater! 
And,  oh! — I forgot  to  tell  you.  She  told  her  pa  I 
was  such  a good  bowman!  — so  thoughtful!  and 
could  n’t  she  have  me  always  ? Always,  Oliver ! The 
bliss  of  that ! ” 

“ I don’t  see  how  you  can  see  anything  amusing  in 
it,  Fred.  It  is  n’t  as  if  this  was  some  common  New 
York  girl,  with  a boarding-school  civilization.  Now 
that  ’s  a rather  neat  phrase,  *a  boarding-school 
civilization.’  ” 

“Is  it?  What  else?” 

“ Nothing.  I only  meant  to  say  these  Lyndsays 
are  gentlefolk,  and  won’t  be  very  well  pleased.” 

“ You  old  idiot ! Do  you  suppose  I don’t  know 
that  ? Put  your  brains  to  work.  Here  am  I at  the 
end  of  the  first  volume  of  a lovely  romance;  situa- 
tion entirely  novel.  I wish  to  stop  there ; the 
second  and  third  volumes  are  sure  to  fall  off  dis- 
mally. The  problem  is,  how  not  to  go  on ; or,  if  I 
must,  how  to  drop  from  poetry  to  prose.” 

“I  should  think  you  must  have  dropped  pretty 
distinctly  when  Mr.  Lyndsay  paid  you;  I suppose 
he  did.” 

u Sir,  I was  paid  in  gold  of  the  Bank  of  Spain  — in 
coin  no  longer  current  — by  the  woman  herself.” 

“ Would  you  kindly  interpret  ? ” 


172  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I will 77 ; and  lie  told  the  scene  on  the  beach. 

“ Let  me  see  that  gold  dollar.77 

“ See  it ! Not  I.  No  profane  eyes  shall  — 77 

“ Stuff  and  nonsense  ! She  will  very  likely  want  it 
back.  Probably  it  was  a luck-penny.77 

“ Very  like.  I shall  keep  it  for  luck.  You  are  an 
iconoclast  of  dreams.  Let  7s  go  and  kill  fish.  I have 
been  trying  to  divide  my  enchanted  mood  with  you. 
It  has  been  a dismal  failure.  The  fact  is,  I know  as 
well  as  you  — and  a blank  sight  better  — that  this  is 
a lady,  that  these  are  nice  people,  and  that  I am  in  a 
scrape.  But  to-day  they  may  all  go  to  the  deuce  and 
the  bow-wows.  i Let  the  great  world  spin  forever, 
down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change.7  He  must  have 
meant  a railway.  I never  thought  of  that  before. 
Don7t  bother.  I 711  go  and  call  some  day.  Come, 
let  7s  kill  salmon.77  And  they  went  to  their  canoes. 

While  this  dreadful  thing  was  agitating  Mr.  Ellett7s 
mind,  it  was  also  receiving  due  consideration  at  the 
breakfast-table  of  the  Cliff  Camp. 

Bose  Lyndsay,  despite  remonstrance,  had  been  sent 
at  once  to  bed  on  her  return,  and  supplied  with  hot 
tea  and  more  substantial  diet,  and  ordered  to  go  to 
sleep.  Next  to  being  wicked  through  and  through, 
to  be  wet  through  and  through  was,  to  Mrs.  Lynd- 
say7s  mind,  one  of  the  most  serious  of  human  catas- 
trophes. She  was  gently  positive,  and  so  Bose  lay 
very  wide-awake,  and  considered  at  ease  the  events 
of  a most  agreeable  day,  until,  thinking  with  a little 
regret  of  her  luck-penny,  she  fell  asleep,  only  to  wake 
up  with  the  sunlight  streaming  in  as  her  mother 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


173 


opened  the  curtains,  and  to  hear  the  pervasive  voices 
of  the  boys  singing  under  her  window : 

Up  in  the  mornin’  *s  nae  for  me ! 

“ Overslept  yourself,  Rose ! ” 

“ Are  you  dry  yet  ? ” 

“ That  salmon  is  only  thirty  pounds.  You  awful 
fraud!” 

“ All  right,  dear,  to-day?”  were  the  salutations  of 
the  noisy  table,  as  she  distributed  her  morning  kisses, 
and  at  last  sat  down. 

“ One  at  a time,”  she  replied.  “ Fair  play,  boys. 
First,  I am  nearly  dry.  Second,  salmon  always  loses 
weight.” 

“ I have  noticed  that,”  laughed  her  father.  “ Tell 
us  all  about  it,  my  dear.”  And  upon  this  she  related 
the  adventures  of  the  previous  day. 

“ I must  have  my  luck-penny,”  she  added.  “ I was 
a goose  to  give  it  away,  but  I was  so  cold  and  wet, 
and  I was  in  such  a hurry.  I hated  to  send  the  man 
away  without  a cent.” 

“ It  is  odd  that  he  took  it,”  said  Anne. 

“ Yes,”  returned  her  brother.  “ These  fellows  are 
sharp  enough  about  their  pay  and  about  money ; and 
he  could  n?t  have  known  what  he  was  taking.  These 
coins  circulate  no  longer,  even  in  the  States.  He 
never  said  a word,  but  merely  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
What  sort  of  a fellow  is  he,  Rose  ? ” 

“ It  is  so  hard  to  describe  people.” 

“It  is  impossible,”  said  Anne,  “even  on  a passport.” 


174  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Not  quite.  Tall,  and  curly  hair — very  curly  hair.” 
“ That  ’s  satisfactory,  Rose,”  remarked  Jack. 

“ I had  not  done.  Oh,  what  I thought  strange  was 
the  man’s  manner.  Now  and  then  he  spoke  as  if  he 
was  talking  to  an  equal,  and  really  he  has  a voice 
quite  full  of  pleasant  tones.  The  next  minute  he 
talked  like  Thunder  Tom,  or  worse.” 

“I  must  ask  Carington  about  him.  By  the  way, 
I was  right  as  to  Ellett.  He  is  a son  of  my  old  com- 
panion. I fancy  they  will  be  here  to-day  or  to-mor- 
row. If  this  present  Oliver  is  like  his  father,  he  will 
be  solid,  stolid, — a rock  of  good  sense.” 

“ I don’t  want  him,  Marcus  Aurelius,  nor  the  other. 
For  a first-class  B.  O.  I prefer  my  young  man  of  the 
gold  dollar.  But  I must  have  it  again.  I am  not  at 
all  sure  now  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy.  When 
you  see  Mr.  Carington,  Pardy,  do  ask  about  the  man. 
He  seemed  quite  above  his  class.  Ned,  I cannot  wait 
for  you  to  finish  your  interminable  meal.” 

“I  think  he  just  chews  for  exercise,”  said  Dick. 
“ Might  arrange,  if  the  meat  was  tough  enough,  to 
keep  his  appetite  up  all  the  time.  Would  n’t  that  be 
fine,  Ned?” 

“I  don’t  think  any  of  my  boys  require  artificial 
aid,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay.  “Dugald  Dalgetty  was  a 
trifler  to  you.” 

“I  have  n’t  got  to  the  fish  yet,  and  it ’s  my  own 
salmon,”  said  the  boy,  helping  himself. 

“We  want  to  have  Rose  to-day,”  said  Dick,  be- 
tween mouthfuls.  “I  want  her  to  go  up  to  the 
brook.  There  ’s  a marsh  there,  and  Drosera — oh, 
lots!  It  ’s  far  north  for  it,  too.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


175 


“ What  is  Drosera,  Dicky  f ” 

“ Fly-trap ; and  there  are  some  purple  orchids.” 
“For  this  once  I will  compromise,”  said  Anne. 
“ I want  to  see  Archie  kill  a salmon.  If  you  will  as- 
sure me  of  Rose  to-morrow  afternoon,  you  may  have 
her  to-day.” 

“ And  I am  to  take  care  of  myself,”  said  her  bro- 
ther. “I  never  hear  of  compromises  without  think- 
ing of  Dr.  North’s  illustration.  I must  have  told 
you,  Margaret.” 

“ If  you  ever  did,  I have  forgotten.” 

Stories  were  pretty  often  retold  in  this  household, 
and  it  was  the  way  to  consider  them  as  guests  to  be 
made  welcome,  no  matter  how  often  they  came. 

Lyndsay  smiled.  “ Two  Germans,  who  were  North’s 
patients,  built  houses  together  and  adjoining.  Then 
each  of  them  bought  paint  enough  to  paint  both 
houses;  one  chose  green  and  one  a fine  brick-red. 
This  ended  in  a quarrel.  Dr.  North  advised  them  to 
consult  their  priest,  and  this  they  did.  He  said, 
‘ Shust  you  make  a gompromise,  and  migs  de  baints.’ 
So  this  was  done,  and  neither  got  what  he  wanted. 
This  is  of  the  essence  of  all  compromise.” 

“ But  I shall  get  what  I want,”  said  Anne. 

“And  we,  too!”  cried  the  boys.  “We  will  take 
Rose  and  lunch  and  Big  Tom,  and  Pierre  and  you 
can  have  the  Indian,  father.” 

“And  his  lame  bowman,  if  he  be  well  enough,’7 
added  Lyndsay.  “ Thanks.” 

“ And  I shall  take  my  rifle,”  said  Dick. 

“No,  unless  you  go  alone,”  said  Lyndsay. 

“All  right;  we  ’ll  fish  for  trout,  Rose,”  cried  Jack. 


176  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Red  Head  can  hunt  beasts  in  the  swamp,  and  Ned 
shall  sit  on  a stump  and  make  poetry.” 

“ Be  sure  not  to  be  late  again,  Rose.  I was  a good 
deal  troubled  last  night.” 

“ Yes,  Pardy ; but  my  watch  has  stopped.  It  got 
wet  through,  last  night,  poor  thing ! I fear  it  is  ut- 
terly ruined.  It  was  not  worth  much.” 

“ Never  mind,  dear,”  said  Anne.  “ I will  give  you 
one  when  we  get  home.”  To  give  was  Anne’s  great  joy. 

“For  a drowned  watch  intemperance  is  the  cure,” 
said  Lyndsay : “ total  immersion  in  alcohol  or  whisky 
is  the  sole  remedy.  I never  carry  one  here,-  it  re- 
minds me  too  much  of  the  minor  oppressions  of 
civilization.” 

“And,  after  all,”  said  Anne,  “ punctuality  is  a quite 
modern  virtue.” 

“Yes.  I think  a Quaker  in  the  reign  of  Anne 
has  the  terrible  responsibility  of  the  invention  of 
the  minute  hand.  In  another  century  we  shall  say, 
‘You  are  late  six  seconds;  is  this  the  way  you  keep 
engagements  ? 7 ” 

“ It  makes  one  shiver  to  think  of  it ; and,  by  the 
way,  Jack,  I promised  you  a watch  at  Christmas.  Be 
sure  to  remind  me.” 

“ 1 7d  rather  have  something  else,  Aunt  Anne.” 

“Why,  Jack?” 

“ Oh,  I know  lots  of  fellows  carry  watches.  They 
have  an  awful  time.” 

“ The  watches  ? ” 

“No;  those  boys.  If  you  have  a watch,  you  have 
to  wind  it  up,  and  the  fellows  ask  what  time  it  is ; 
and  if  you  play,  it  gets  smashed ; and  if  you  have  a 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


177 


fight,  you  have  to  get  another  fellow  to  hold  it,  and 
he  forgets  — ” 

“ Gracious ! The  simplicity  of  the  mind  of  youth ! 
You  would  prefer  — a new  bat  ? ” 

“ Yes,  indeed,  and  a good  foot-ball” 

“ I am  a female  Kriss  Kringle, — presents  to  order.” 

“ Thank  you,  Aunt  Anne.  And  I say,  Rosy  Posy, 
get  lunch  ready.  Oh,  quit  eating  and  come  along, 
Dick ! ” 

Upon  this  Dick  secured  a biscuit  and  followed  him, 
while  Anne  and  the  rest  went  out  onto  the  porch. 

“ I trust,  Margaret,  those  young  men  will  not  re- 
gale you  and  me  with  their  society  at  lunch.  What 
a wholesome  thing  it  would  be  to  have  a man- 
smudge  ! I get  no  time  to  read.  But  you  said 
Dorothy  would  be  over  to  lunch.  That  is  better. 
What  fun  it  would  be  if  the  stolid,  solid  Boston  man 
should  turn  up.  I could  enjoy  the  combination,  I 
think.”  Then  she  walked  to  the  cliff-edge,  smiling, 
for  there  was  a battle  imminent  between  the  boys. 

“I  mean  to  paddle,”  said  Jack. 

“ No,  I ’ll  pole.” 

“ Not  with  me  in  the  canoe,”  said  Rose. 

“ I 'm  to  paddle,”  cried  Dick. 

“ May  I sit  by  you  ? ” said  Ned. 

“You  sha'n't,  if  I can't  pole,”  cried  Dick.  “You 
always  want  Rose.” 

“You  're  hard  to  please,  boys.” 

“ I 'm  not;  I 'm  soft  to  please,”  said  Ned. 

“ Get  in ! ” And  so,  with  some  coaxing  from  Rose, 
the  peacemaker,  they  got  away. 

“And  I should  like  a boy-smudge,  Anne,”  said 
12 


178  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Lyndsay,  who  had  quietly  watched  the  proceedings 
on  the  shore. 

“ They  are  delightful.” 

“You  have  no  responsibility  for  them,  my  dear 
sister.  You  know  what  Marcus  Aurelius  says:  ‘ Ir- 
responsibility arises  from  an  unphilosophical  indif- 
ference to  — to — ’” 

“ Consequences,”  cried  Anne,  laughing.  “You 
worry  too  much  over  the  boys,  Archie.  I mean  it. 
You  take  them  too  seriously.  Permit  me  to  say  you 
are  too  consequentitious.” 

“What  a word!  Did  you  make  it?  I can’t  help 
worrying.  I am  always  thinking  of  what  their  fu- 
ture will  be.  One  should  give  some  thought  to  the 
morrow,  and  other  people’s  morrows  are  the  real 
difficulty.” 

“ See  Marcus  Aurelius,  chapter  third,”  said  Anne, 
maliciously.  “ 4 To-morrow  is  only  a stranger ; when 
he  is  to-day  consider  how  thou  shalt  entertain  him.’  ” 

“That  is  not  my  way,  Anne.”  And  he  left  her, 
saying,  “Jack  is  the  one  I fear  for  most.” 

“I  least,”  said  Anne  to  herself.  “I  shall  not  be 
here  to  see,  whatever,  as  Tom  says.”  Then  she  sat 
down  to  her  book  about  the  Council  of  Trent,  and  by 
and  by  varied  it  with  a little  tough  work  on  Caed- 
mon’s Anglo-Saxon  riddles,  smiling  as  she  read, — a 
good,  half-dozen  kind  of  smiles,  of  which  she  alone 
had  the  secret. 

By  and  by  came  Margaret  Lyndsay  and  sat  down, 
her  knitting-needles  clicking,  until  Anne’s  unlucky 
nervousness,  kept  in  hand  with  difficulty,  was  viciously 
alive.  At  last  Mrs.  Lyndsay  laid  aside  her  work  with 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


179 


a certain  deliberation,  for  those  who  knew  her  best  a 
signal  of  serious  moment.  She  said,  “You  won’t 
mind,  dear,  if  I say  something  I have  had  on  my 
mind  ? ” 

“ I ? Oh,  no  ! What  is  it  ? 99 

“ I sometimes  think,  dear,  that  the  endless  triviali- 
ties into  which  you  and  Archibald  lead  those  boys  are 
not,  dear,  a good  thing.  I have  spoken  to  Archibald 
about  it,  and  he  quite  agrees  with  me.  I sometimes 
think  Archibald  agrees  with  me  too  easily.  I would 
rather  he  argued  the  matter ; but  he  is  so  apt  to  say, 
i Certainly,  Margaret ! 9 and  then  to  go  and  smoke. 
I do  wish  you  would  consider  it  seriously.  And  you 
are  so  capable  of  wiser  and  more  instructive  talk. 
You  won’t  mind  what  I say,  dear?” 

“ My  dear  Margaret,”  replied  Anne,  with  some  irri- 
tation, “shall  we  converse  about  the  Council  of  Trent? 
Also  the  enigmas  of  Ceedmon  are  instructive;  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  Angles  are  stated  there 
in  a manner  to  combine  interest  with  amusement,  in- 
struction with  perplexity.” 

“Why  do  you  answer  me  in  that  way?  You  al- 
ways do.  Anne,  you  are  too  bad  ! You  know  well 
enough  what  I mean.” 

“ Yes,  I know,”  she  said,  a little  wearily.  “ I think 
you  are  hardly  just.  You  see  only  one  side  of  things. 
At  all  events,  the  whole  logic  of  the  situation  is  this  : 
When  you  have  a headache,  you  go  to  bed  and  dose 
yourself,  and  put  stuff  on  your  temples ; when  I am 
in  pain  from  head  to  foot, — I was  at  breakfast, — I 
go  merry  mad  and  say  things.  You  will  have  to 
stand  it,  unless  I go  away.” 


180  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Oh,  Anne!  How  can  you  hurt  me  so?  Go  away?” 

“I  spoke  hastily:  I don’t  mean  that.  But  some- 
times, Margaret,  you  so  completely  fail  to  compre- 
hend me  that  I feel  I had  better  be  away.  You  can 
never  change  me.” 

“ But  you  — you  could  change  yourself.” 

“ Could  I,  indeed?  And  trust  me,  Margaret,  I 
shall  go  on  as  gay,  as  inconsequent,  as  merry ; but 
if  I can  teach,  if  anything  in  my  life  teaches  these 
boys  to  laugh  when  they  might  cry,  I shall  not  have 
lived  in  vain.  I am  sure  we  are  all  grave  enough  at 
times.  When  I go  wild,  and  say  absurd  things,  pity 
me.  A jest  is  my  smelling-salts;  a joke  is  my  medi- 
cine. Believe  me  — oh,  it  is  true:  the  custom  of 
laughter  is  good.” 

“ But  this  constant  amusement  at  everything  — 
yes,  everything!” 

“ There  is  quite  enough  that  is  serious,  even  now, 
in  these  young  lives.  The  laugh  of  a fool  is  as  the 
crackling  of  thorns,  and  heats  no  water  in  the  pot ; but 
the  grin  of  the  wise  boils  the  kettle  of  wisdom.  There ! ” 

The  illustration  was  unhappy. 

“ I think,  dear,  you  might  put  Scripture  to  wiser 
use  than  to  twist  it  into  a defense  of  this  perpetual 
levity.  It  seems  strange  to  me  that  you  cannot  see 
these  things  as  I see  them.” 

“ Better  to  give  me  up  as  a hopeless  case.  I shall 
laugh  till  I die,  and  if  afterward  the  supply  gives  out 
I shall  feel  glad  that  I neglected  no  reasonable  chance 
on  earth.” 

“ There  is  a time  for  all  things,  Anne,  and  some- 
times — ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


181 


“ Yes,  I know.  Only  we  differ  as  to  the  times.  I 
think,  now,  I must  go  in  and  rest  a little.” 

This  was  the  usual  end  of  their  discussions.  Anne 
was  mentally  victor,  but  physically  defeated.  u Yes, 
I am  sure  that  will  be  best.”  Upon  this  Anne  went 
away  with  a smile  that  was  not  quite  pleasant.  In 
her  room  she  stood  a moment  and  then  said,  “D.  A.  M ! 
I think  that  is  good  French.  The  Lord  deliver  us 
from  the  gentle ! ” and  so  fell  in  a heap  on  the  bed, 
with  set  teeth  and  very  white. 


12* 


CHAPTER  XIII 


and  good  temper, 
the  wise  man  said 


EANWHILE  the  overladen  canoe 
went  away  up  the  river.  “And 
now,  boys,”  said  Rose,  “this  is  my 
day,  and  there  must  be  no  quarrels. 
We  are  pretty  well  packed  in  one 
canoe,  and  I will  have  only  sunshine 
And  do  sit  still.  Remember  what 


Three  Irishmen  of  Timbuctoo, 

They  went  to  sea  in  a birch  canoe. 

They  kicked  up  such  a hullabaloo 
That  they  never  got  back  to  Timbuctoo. 

Remember  that,  boys.” 

“ Oh ! ” said  Ned.  “ I know  a better  one  — 

There  was  a young  man  of  Siam, 

As  occasionally  murmured  a damn ! 

Monotonous  virtue 
Is  certain  to  hurt  you ; 

So  he  swallowed  a taciturn  clam.” 

“ What  nonsense ! " cried  Rose. 

“That  ?s  good  about  monotonous  virtue"  said 
Jack.  “A  whole  day  and  no  row!" 

“Not  one,"  said  Rose. 


182 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


183 


“Why,  Rose,  if  a fellow  don’t  fight  somebody, 
what  ’s  to  become  of  him?” 

“I  guess  we  are  n’t  any  less  brave  than  the  Ro- 
mans,” remarked  Ned,  sententiously.  “If  you  gemini 
had  a hornets’  nest  to  fight  every  day,  you  would  let 
me  alone.  I hate  to  fight.” 

“ Oh ! There ’s  a nice  fat  fib.” 

“I  do.  I had  to  eat  dinner  standing  up  for  two 
days  after  that  scrimmage.” 

“ Yes,  little  peaceful  man  ! ” said  Jack.  “ Tell  us  a 
story,  Rose.  It ’s  an  hour  to  the  brook.” 

“Very  well.  Once  on  a time  there  was  a princess. 
She  was  terribly  rich,  and  as  pretty  — ” 

“As  you,”  said  Ned. 

“No  interruptions,  sir!  She  was  very  beautiful, 
and  very,  very  hard  to  satisfy.  A great  many  lovers 
came  to  ask  her  to  marry  them.  None  of  them 
pleased  her,  but  so  many  came  that  to  save  trouble 
she  wrote  a big  ‘No!’  on  her  visiting  cards,  and 
gave  every  man  one  as  he  came  in,  and  this  saved  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  When  there  were  no  more 
lovers  left  in  the  world  but  only  three,  she  began  to 
be  afraid  she  would  never  get  married  at  all.  So  she 
tore  up  her  cards,  and  was  polite  to  these  three. 
Their  names  were  Hurdy-Gurdy  and  Trombone  and 
Mandolin.  At  length  her  father  said  she  must  make 
up  her  mind.  At  first  she  thought  she  would  draw 
lots,  but  by  and  by  she  resolved  to  marry  the  most 
courageous  of  the  three.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed  Jack,  “ I like  that.” 

“ One  day  they  were  all  four  walking  by  the  river, 
and,  as  if  by  accident,  she  fell  in.  ‘Oh,  dear!’  she 


184  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

cried,  ( I shall  drown.’  Then  Hurdy-Gurdy  sat  down 
and  began  to  whittle  a shingle ; but  Trombone 
jumped  in,  and,  as  she  flopped  about  a great  deal,  he 
was  like  to  drown  himself.  Then  in  jumped  Mando- 
lin, and  pulled  them  both  out  by  the  hair. 

“Then  all  three  spread  themselves  in  the  sun,  to 
dry.  And  the  princess  said,  1 Now,  which  is  the  most 
courageous  ? 7 

“Trombone  cried,  ‘I!  Because  I dashed  in  to 
save  you,  without  hesitation.’ 

“ 1 But,’  said  Mandolin,  * you  did  not  save  her.  I 
pulled  you  both  out.’ 

“ 1 1 was  first,’  said  Trombone. 

“ 1 Certainly ! ’ said  the  princess,  which  her  name 
was  Henrietta,  and  she  was  so  called  because  she  was 
fond  of  algebra,  and  preferred  even  an  improper  frac- 
tion to  the  most  virtuous  of  men.  Said  she,  c What 
good  was  your  courage,  if  it  only  served  to  drown  us 
both?  You  are  neither  of  you  as  brave  as  me.’” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Ned. 

“They  always  speak  bad  grammar  in  fairy-land, 
because  it  is  romantic,  and  because  then  the  young 
princesses  can  be  sure  that  the  princes  are  thinking 
more  of  them  than  of  the  mere  choice  of  words.” 

“ Guess  Jack  would  have  a fine  chance ! ” said  Ned. 
“ Don’t  interrupt  me.  Where  was  I ? Oh ! 

“ L You  are  neither  of  you  as  brave  as  me,  because 
I have  to  marry  one  of  you,  and  that  is  an  act  of 
courage  of  which  a man  is  incapable.  Also,  I can’t 
swim,  but  I fell  in  so  as  to  see  which  of  you  is  the 
bravest.  I fell  in ! Trombone  jumped  in ! Mandolin 
leaped  in ! ’ 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


185 


“ ‘ But  I saved  you ! ’ said  Mandolin. 

“ ‘ A mere  question  of  brute  skill/  urged  Trombone. 
1 It  is  braver  to  jump  in  when  you  can’t  swim  than 
when  you  can.’ 

“ 1 It  is  very  puzzling/  cried  Henrietta.  ‘ The  per- 
sonal equation  — 

“I  know  what  that  is/’  cried  Ned. 

“ Shut  up,  old  wisdom ! Go  ahead,  Rosy  Posy.” 

“ ‘ It  is  a question  in  the  rule  of  three.  As  Trom- 
bone is  to  Mandolin,  so  is  me  to  the  answer.’ 

“ ‘ That  leaves  me  out/  said  Hurdy-Gurdy. 

<uYou  stayed  out !’  cried  Mandolin,  with  scorn. 

“‘I  don’t  see  my  way/  said  the  princess.  ‘Let 
Mandolin  be  B,  and  Hurdy-Gurdy  C,  and  I am — ’ 
“‘B,  C puts  them  both  out  of  the  question/  said 
Trombone.  ‘ They  are  dead.’  ” 

“Sancho  Panza!”  cried  Ned.  “What  fine  non- 
sense ! ” 

“Do  keep  quiet,”  said  Jack. 

“ ‘ And  me  — I — oh,  bother  ! ’ said  Henrietta.  ‘ It 
comes  out  even.’ 

“‘But/  said  Hurdy-Gurdy,  ‘it  is  heart-rending 
what  I suffered.  I alone  had  the  courage  not  to  jump 
in.  I had  the  courage  of  my  opinion,  which  was  that 
I should  be  drowned,  and  so  break  your  heart.  I 
really  could  n’t.  There  are  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
one  kinds  of  courage.’ 

“ Gracious!  How  numerically  interesting!’  said 
Henrietta.  ‘ Dry  yourselves,  and  I will  reflect.’ 

“ So  she  left  the  three  seated  on  the  bank,  in  the 
sun,  and  went  away.  But  once  a year  she  sent  her 
maid  to  see  if  they  were  dry,  and  to  say  she  was 


186  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

working  it  out.  The  second  year  Hurdy-Gurdy  went 
away,  because  he  was  a person  who  had  a good  deal 
of  decision  of  character. 

“ There ! ” cried  Rose,  laughing.  “ It  ’s  a little  too 
old  for  you.” 

“ Well,  of  all  the  stuff ! ” said  Dick. 

“ I call  it  bully,”  said  Jack. 

“ And  whom  did  she  marry?”  cried  Ned.  “ Never 
any  one  ? ” 

“ Never ! Like  Rose  Lyndsay.  I am  going  to  live 
with  you  all  my  life  at  home,  and  never,  never  marry.” 

Upon  this  the  twins  intimated  their  satisfaction  by 
pulling  Ned’s  back  hair.  He  howled  loudly. 

“ Seems  to  answer  the  bell,”  said  Jack. 

“ Oh,  stop  that  — it  hurts ! ” 

“Look  out  there!”  cried  the  sternman.  “You  ’ll 
upset  the  birch.  There  are  too  many  of  you,  any- 
ways.” 

Again  Rose  called  them  to  order,  and  they  were 
silent  a while.  In  the  mean  time  she  sat  gazing  up 
the  changing  waterway.  This  home-coming,  this 
abrupt  transition,  this  privilege  of  abandonment  to 
every  light,  innocent  folly,  even  to  enjoying  the  mad 
fun  of  three  clever  boys,  made  for  her  an  immense 
change,  and  one  which  she  felt  to  be  both  whole- 
some and  pleasant.  In  Europe  she  had  come  fully 
to  understand  the  sacrifice  Anne  had  made  in  order 
to  be  with  her,  and  at  last  to  see  but  too  clearly  that 
Anne  Lyndsay  was  failing.  To  none  was  this  so 
clear  as  to  the  sufferer;  to  none  less  clear  than  to 
her  brother.  As  to  Margaret,  she  was  by  nature 
conservative.  The  word  hardly  describes  what  I 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  187 


mean.  She  had  an  inherent  belief  in  the  unchange- 
ableness of  things  and  people.  The  death  of  Harry 
had  been  the  first  calamity  in  a prosperous  life.  She 
had  so  long  seen  Anne  Lyndsay  to  her  mind  full  of 
levity  that  she  found  it  impossible  to  accept  the  idea 
that  for  this  woman,  who  lowered  her  crest  to  no  ad- 
verse hour,  the  time  could  not  be  very  far  away 
when  she  would  cease  to  smile  at  pain. 

Miss  Anne,  of  her  own  will,  cut  short  by  three 
months  their  intended  length  of  stay  abroad.  She 
had  seen  how  heavy  was  the  burden  of  responsibility 
which  this  fatal  descent  placed  upon  Rose.  In  fact, 
to  be  alone  with  a woman  like  Anne  was  good  only 
if  the  younger  person  had  intervals  of  other  com- 
panionship. Anne  made  a too  strong  call  upon  the 
apprehending  intellect  to  be  as  a constancy  good  for  a 
growing  girl,  and  her  matchless  cynicism  in  talk,  which 
found  no  representation  in  her  acts,  was  tempting  as 
an  example  and  easily  capable  of  misapprehension. 

This  long  stay  with  Anne  had  been  for  Rose  a 
severe  test  of  character  and  even  of  physical  power. 
Without  altogether  realizing  the  true  cause  of  her 
rebound  into  unusual  joyousness,  she  distinctly  felt 
the  relief  of  her  new  surroundings. 

“ There  is  the  brook,  Rose,”  said  Ned.  “We  ’ll 
fish,  and  build  a big  fife,  and  cook  our  own  fish.” 

They  were  now  above  the  clearings,  and  on  the  far 
side  of  the  river. 

“ What  canoe  is  that  up  the  stream,  near  the  far 
shore  ? v she  asked. 

“ It  ’s  Mr.  Carington’s.  He  ?s  took  a bit  of  water 
’bove  Mr.  Lyndsay’s  upper  pool.  It  ain’t  much  good.” 


188  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GREEN 

“ You  are  sure  it  is  Mr.  Carington  ? 77 

u I don7t  rightly  know.  It  7s  too  far.77 

After  this  they  went  ashore  on  a broad  beach, 
through  which  a quick  run  of  brown  water  from  the 
swamps  inland  found  its  way  out  to  the  main  river. 

Rose  took  a book  and  sat  down,  while  the  boys 
cast  for  trout  at  the  mouth  of  the  brook.  After  a 
while  the  twins  tired  of  this  and  set  to  work  to  build 
a fire  on  the  higher  rise  of  the  shore,  while  Tom 
cleaned  the  fish  they  had  captured.  By  and  by  came 
Ned  and  sat  down  with  his  sister.  Now  and  then  he 
called  her  attention  to  a salmon,  or,  at  intervals, 
asked  Rose  questions  not  always  easy  of  answer.  At 
last  he  said,  “ There  is  a spring  back  in  the  woods, — 
comes  out  of  the  hollow  of  a big,  old  balm  of  Gilead. 
I found  it.77 

“ Oh,  we  must  go  and  see  it  after  lunch.  I know 
few  things  I like  better  than  a spring, — and  out  of 
a tree.77 

u Yes ; must  n7t  it  be  comfortable  for  the  old  tree?77 

“ Rather,77  she  said,  and  fell  silent. 

It  was  now  quiet  and  warm  — no  leaf  astir  — a 
noonday  dreaminess  on  wood  and  water.  “ That 
canoe  7s  dropping  down,77  Ned  said.  u Is  it  Mr.  Ellett 
or  Mr.  Carington,  Rose  ? He  does  n7t  get  any  fish.77 

“ 1 don7t  know.  I was  half  asleep.  How  nice  to  be 
where  all  the  noises  are  sounds  one  likes  ! 77 

“ Do  you  hear  the  rapids,  Rose  ? I thought  yester- 
day they  were  exactly  like  children  laughing  — I mean 
their  noise.77 

“I  said  that  very  thing  to  Pardy,  the  night  we 
came  up.77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


189 


"I  guess  when  the  Indians  called  a fall  'The 
Laughing  Water’  they  might  have  meant  that.” 

"Perhaps, — or  only  that,  in  a way,  it  did  sound 
cheerful.” 

"I  don’t  think  the  sea  always  makes  pleasant 
noises,  Rosy.” 

" No,”  said  Rose,  abstractedly.  She  was  watching 
the  canoe,  as  in  successive  drops  it  came  toward  them 
around  the  curve. 

" What  set  that  great  boulder  on  this  beach,  I won- 
der ! ” said  Ned.  " Rufus  he  says,  it ’s  what  he  calls 
conglomerate,  and  that  there  is  none  near  by.” 

" The  ice,  I suppose,”  said  Rose.  "Ask  papa.” 

The  rock  was  some  eight  feet  high,  rounded  and 
smooth,  except  toward  the  waterside,  where  it  was 
broken  and  splintered. 

" Where  are  the  men  ? That  fire  is  too  large.” 

" They  are  in  the  wood  after  birch  bark.  I ’ll  see 
to  the  fire.” 

" By  Jove ! ” he  cried,  and  bounded  to  his  feet. 
" Look  sharp,  Rose  ! ” And,  giving  her  a hand,  he 
helped  her  to  rise.  She  looked  about  in  dismay,  for 
this  thing  had  happened : Jack  had  suddenly  spied  a 
small  bear  cub,  an  awkward,  black  little  bruin, 
sprawling  over  the  round  stones  at  one  end  of  the 
beach,  between  him  and  the  water.  It  was  not  much 
bigger  than  a well-grown  kitten.  He  had  it  by  one 
hind  leg  in  an  instant,  and  was  roaring  with  the  fun 
of  his  capture,  the  capture  grunting  dolorously.  As 
Ned  spoke,  Jack  saw  the  troubled  mother-bear  come  out 
of  the  wood,  and,  a moment  in  doubt,  hesitate  among 
the  bushes.  Ned  dragged  his  sister  toward  the 


190  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

water,  as  the  bear,  fiercely  growling,  began  to  move 
toward  them.  As  for  Jack,  he  was  away  around  the 
boulder,  and  in  an  instant  upon  top,  the  young  bear 
giving  him  a smart  nip,  as  he  stood  on  the  summit, 
flushed,  resolute,  and  laughing. 

“ Fling  it  down ! 77  cried  Ned,  with  good  sense. 
But  Jack  was  otherwise  minded,  hardly  taking  in 
the  peril  for  Rose  and  Ned.  Dick  had  dashed  into 
the  wood,  calling  wildly  to  the  men. 

“ Let  it  go ! 77  cried  Rose.  Then  there  was  a loud 
cry  from  the  river : 

“ Drop  it,  you  fool ! 77 

“Not  I!77  cried  Jack.  “Run,  Rose 5 he  711  go  for 
me.  Run ! run  ! 77 

As  he  spoke,  the  savage  bruin  reared  herself  up  in 
a vain  effort  to  climb  the  smooth  stone.  Jack,  on 
the  boulder,  laughed,  as  he  balanced  himself  with  dif- 
ficulty, owing  to  the  struggles  of  the  cub.  Seeing 
that  to  climb  was  impossible,  the  bear  proceeded  to 
make  a flank  movement,  which  would  have  enabled 
her  to  follow  Jack  up  the  back  of  the  rock.  The  boy 
was  in  no  way  alarmed.  But  now  he  saw  that  Rose 
was  in  the  path  of  the  bear,  and  that  Ned,  white  as 
death,  was  standing  between  Rose  and  the  enraged 
mother,  a canoe-pole  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  mo- 
tioning back  at  Rose,  as  he  called  to  her  to  “ Run ! 
run ! 77 

Just  as  Jack,  appalled  at  these  unlooked-for  con- 
sequences, was  about  to  part  with  his  precious  cap- 
tive, a voice  rang  out  again  from  the  river : “ Run ! 
run  ! Quick  ! 77 

Ned  cast  a glance  behind  him,  and,  catching  Rose7s 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  191 


hand,  pulled  at  her  so  violently,  as  he  threw  the  pole 
aside,  that  she  lost  her  balance  and  fell,  striking 
heavily  on  a corner  of  rock.  Ned  cast  himself  down 
beside  her.  Instantly  a rifle  rang  out  from  the  river 
behind  them.  As  they  lay,  he  heard  the  shrill 
“ ping  ” of  a rifle-ball  above  him,  and  the  bear  rolled 
dead  on  her  side,  clean  shot  through  the  head. 

Jack  leaped  from  the  boulder,  still  holding  on  to  the 
cub,  and  made  toward  Rose,  as  the  men  and  Dick 
came  out  in  haste  from  the  wood  onto  the  beach. 
Carington  sprang  into  the  water  before  his  canoe 
touched  the  land,  crying  to  Jack: 

“ Back  there,  you  infernal  young  idiot ! ” With  his 
rifle  ready,  he  pushed  the  boy  aside  and  advanced 
cautiously  but  swiftly,  until  he  saw  that  the  beast 
was  dead.  Next  he  turned  to  Rose,  who  lay  motion- 
less on  the  beach.  As  the  group  of  faces,  still  wild 
with  scare  or  excitement,  gathered  around  him,  he 
knelt,  lifted  the  girl,  and,  seeing  a thin  thread  of 
blood  leaping  in  little  jets  from  her  temple,  he  set 
her  head  against  his  knee  and  put  a finger  on  the 
wound,  saying : 

“ Get  me  water.  It  is  not  so  bad.  Good  Lord ! 
It  might  have  been  worse !” 

“Is  she  dead?”  said  Ned. 

“ Dead  ? No,  my  boy — not  she.” 

He  wet  his  handkerchief  and  washed  the  blood  off 
her  face,  still  keeping  a finger  above  the  cut  on  the 
artery,  as  he  gave  directions  to  Tom  to  make  a pad 
from  Ned’s  handkerchief.  With  this  and  his  own 
tied  tightly  around  her  head,  he  was  able  easily  to 
check  the  bleeding.  Meanwhile  the  rest  stood  still, 


192  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

recognizing  the  competence  of  the  improvised  sur- 
geon. 

“ That  will  do,”  he  said,  looking  at  her  as  he  knelt, 
and  letting  her  head  rest  on  a cushion  from  the  canoe. 
“ I think  she  has  only  fainted.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Jack,  “ I was  afraid — Be  still,  you 
beast ! ” to  the  writhing  cub.  Carington  gave  him  a 
look,  and  again  considered  the  fair,  young  face  be- 
neath his  gaze,  the  blood  on  neck  and  dress,  and  the 
red  splashes  on  his  own  attire. 

“That  is  better,”  he  exclaimed,  for  Rose  opened 
her  eyes,  looked  about,  confused  for  a moment  ; then 
rallied  her  faculties,  and  said,  feebly : 

“What  is  it?  Where  am  I?  What  has  happened?” 
“ It  is  all  right.  You  fell  down.” 

“ Oh,  Fairfield  ! Is  that  you  ? Where  is  Ned  ? ” 

“ 1 ’m  here.” 

“And  Jack?” 

“ Oh,  I ’m  all  right ! And  the  bear  ’s  dead.” 

“ The  bear  ? Yes,  I know  now.  Dead  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Carington  shot  him,”  said  Ned. 

“ Mr.  Carington  ? Where  is  he?”  cried  Rose,  sitting 
up,  and  still  a little  dazed. 

“Keep  quiet,  boys,”  said  the  young  man.  “Back 
a little.  Take  that  cub  away,  sir.  Can  you  stand, 
Miss  Lyndsay  ? Here,  take  a little  brandy  from  my 
flask.  The  explanations  can  wait.  Why,  you  are 
quite  strong.  Now,  then.  Don’t  look  at  the  bear; 
come.”  And  he  supported  her  to  the  canoe,  talking 
as  he  went,  to  keep  her  from  questioning. 

“Now,  then,” — turning  to  Jack, — “you  must  wait 
here,  sir.  You  can  go  in  Tom’s  boat  with  Miss  Lynd- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


193 


say ” — this  to  Ned.  “ I will  go  ahead  and  explain  at 
the  camp.  Don’t  let  Miss  Lyndsay  talk.” 

“But,  Fairfield,”  said  Rose,  “I  must — ” 

“ You  are  better,  I think.  There,  that  will  do,”  as 
she  was  laid  in  the  canoe.  “ If  you  talk,  you  will 
start  the  bleeding.  Not  a word  now.” 

This  was  a somewhat  masterful  person,  and  Rose, 
as  she  lay  back  against  the  cushions,  was  satisfied  to 
shut  her  eyes  and  obey,  weak,  and  still  tingling  with 
past  excitement. 

“You  shall  know  everything  by  and  by,  Miss 
Lyndsay.” 

“ Thanks  ! ” she  murmured,  and  her  canoe  put  off. 
“I  will  overtake  you,”  he  said,  and  then  walked 
back  and  took  a look  at  the  bear,  which  Jack,  now 
reassured,  was  attentively  regarding. 

“A  first-rate  shot  that  was ! ” said  the  boy. 
Carington  made  no  reply.  Then,  glancing  at  the 
bear:  “Poor  old  mother!”  he  said.  “A  sucking 
bear!  I am  sorry  I had  to  kill  you.” 

“ You  ’ll  send  for  me  soon  ? ” said  Jack. 

Carington  again  failed  to  reply. 

“ Is  n’t  there  room  in  your  boat  ? ” 

“Not  for  you.”  He  was  very  angry.  Jack  sat 
down  with  his  troublesome  captive,  feeling  that  he 
had  been  sharply  snubbed ; and  the  canoe  fled  away 
in  the  track  of  Rose’s  boat.  As  he  passed  her,  Car- 
ington cried  out : 

“ Are  you  all  right  ? ” 

“ Yes,  thank  you!  ” 

“Well,  don’t  talk.”  And  his  birch  went  by  at 
speed,  he  himself  taking  a third  paddle  to  gain  time. 

13 


194  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ By  George ! My  little  comedy  came  near  to  a 
tragic  ending.  How  Ellett  will  rate  me!  What  a 
mess ! ” And  he  considered  a moment  his  bloody 
knickerbockers  and  stained  stockings. 

“ Yonr  face  is  all  over  blood,”  said  Michelle.  “ Best 
wash,  sir.  Might  scare  ’em  worse  than  a bear.” 

“ That  is  so.”  Ceasing  to  paddle,  he  took  the  boat 
sponge,  and  made  a hasty  toilet. 

“ Am  I clean,  Michelle  ? ” 

“Well  — pretty  fair,  sir.  You  are  right  well 
painted.  It  was  awful  lucky  you  took  a mind  to  try 
for  a shot  at  that  other  seal.” 

“Yes.  Shove  her  along!”  He  took  the  paddle 
again,  and  fell  to  thinking,  until  they  came  to  the 
beach.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  He  ran  up  the 
steps,  noticing  that  there  was  one  canoe  on  the  shore. 
Then  he  paused,  and,  returning,  called  Tom. 

“ Go  up  and  tell  Mr.  Lyndsay  I want  to  see  him.” 

Presently  Mr.  Lyndsay  came  down  the  steps. 

“ Mr.  Carington ! ” And  he  stayed  a moment,  sur- 
prised at  the  appearance  of  the  blood-stained  man. 
“ What  is  it  ? ” he  said.  “ Anything  wrong  ? ” 

“ Miss  Lyndsay  has  had  a slight  accident.  She  is 
all  right  now.  I came  on  ahead  to  tell  you.  It  is 
really — really  not  serious.  They  were  scared  by  a 
bear  on  the  beach.  I was  lucky  enough  to  kill  it, 
but,  in  trying  to  escape,  your  daughter  fell  and 
struck  her  head,  and  — oh,  it  bled  a bit.  Oh,  here  is 
the  canoe.” 

Rose,  freshened  by  the  air  and  motion,  got  up, 
laughing,  and  ran  to  her  father. 

“ Rose,  my  dear ! Rose  ! ” he  cried. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


195 


“ Where  is  mother?  Does  she  know?  It  is  n’t 
anything,  Pardy.”  Then  she  looked  at  his  compan- 
ion, who  presented  a sufficiently  soiled  and  untidy 
appearance  to  still  perplex  her. 

“ Fairfield,”  she  exclaimed,  “ where  is — ” 

“ I am  Mr.  Carington,”  he  returned,  smiling,  and  a 
little  embarrassed.  Lyndsay  looked  on  bewildered. 

“ But — ” 

“ Never  mind,  Miss  Lyndsay.  I owe  you  an  apol- 
ogy for  playing  bowman  for  a half-day.” 

“ Indeed ! ” cried  Rose,  flushing,  and,  turning  away, 
went  up  the  steps.  She  hesitated  half-way,  remem- 
bering the  bear,  and  then  went  on  and  entered  the 
house. 

“ One  moment,  Mr.  Carington ! ” exclaimed  her 
father.  “Wait  for  me.”  And  he  hurried  after  her. 
In  a few  minutes  the  scared  mother  was  made  to  un- 
derstand the  matter,  and,  reassured,  busied  herself  in 
seeing  Rose  safely  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


RCHIBALD  LYNDSAY  went  down 
to  the  beach  again,  where  Caring- 
ton,  not  very  happy,  sat  waiting  on 
the  stern  of  his  canoe.  He  rose  as 
his  host  came  near. 

“ This  way,”  said  Lyndsay.  “ And 
now” — as  they  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  upper 
shingles — “may  I ask  you  to  let  me  understand  it 
all?” 

Carington  quietly  related  the  scene  on  the  shore, 
omitting  nothing.  When  he  had  ended,  Lyndsay 
said: 

“ I have  probably  to  thank  you  for  a life  which  is 
very  dear  to  me.  I have  no  words  in  which  to  say 
what  I feel.  We  are  very  deep  in  your  debt.” 

“ Oh,  any  one  would — ” 

“No  — I understand.  You  are  a little  like  myself, 
I fancy.  To  have  too  much  obliged  another  has  its 
embarrassments.  I won’t  ask  you  now  to  let  my  wife 
say  her  own  thankfulness ; but  come  and  breakfast 
to-morrow,  and  bring  Mr.  Ellett.” 

“ With  pleasure.” 

“By  the  way  — and  you  will  pardon  me — what  was 
all  that  about  Fairfield  and  a bowman  ? ” 

“ Simply,  Mr.  Lyndsay,  that  I am  still,  in  my  holi- 

196 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  197 


day  times,  a bit  of  a foolish  boy,  and  when  Polycarp 
came  up  for  a man  and  could  get  none,  I supposed 
it  was  for  you,  and  just  as  a frolic  induced  him  to  let 
me  play  bowman.  I had,  of  course,  not  the  remotest 
idea  that  it  was  for  Miss  Lyndsay.  May  I ask  you  to 
accept  for  her  my  most  humble  apologies?  ” 

“I  see,”  said  Lyndsay,  laughing.  “ It  has  its  amus- 
ing side.” 

“Yes,  but — Well,  it  ceased  to  be  amusing  when 
I realized  the  annoyance  it  might  bring  to  Miss 
Lyndsay.” 

“ I dare  say  you  will  be  able  to  make  your  peace,” 
said  his  host,  as  Carington  took  his  hand.  At  the 
boat,  to  which  he  walked  with  the  elder  man,  he 
paused : 

“ May  I say  a word  to  that  boy  of  yours  ? ” 

“To  Ned?  Yes,  certainly.”  He  called,  “Ned! 
Halloa!  Come  here!”  for  the  lad  had  gone  up  to 
the  cabin  with  Rose. 

“ Coming,”  cried  Ned,  from  the  porch,  where,  with 
Anne,  he  was  trying  to  make  a good  case  for  Jack. 

Meanwhile,  as  Lyndsay  was  ordering  a boat  up  to 
Jack,  Ned  came  down  to  the  strand. 

“ Mr.  Carington  wished  to  see  you,”  said  Lyndsay. 
“Good-by,  and  breakfast  at  half -past  eight  to-mor- 
row”; and  so,  with  ready  tact,  he  went  up  the  cliff, 
leaving  Ned  with  Carington. 

“I  wanted  to  see  you  a moment,  Ned,  while  the 
matter  is  fresh.  I want  to  say  that  I saw  the  whole 
affair  on  the  shore.  I was  but  thirty  yards  away. 
Perhaps  you  won't  think  it  a liberty,  my  lad,  if  I say 
you  behaved  admirably,  and  kept  your  wits,  too. 

13* 


198  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

You  showed  both  good  sense  and  courage.”  He  spoke 
as  if  he  were  addressing  an  equal. 

Ned  flushed  with  pleasure.  “ Oh,  thank  you ! ” 
“That  ?s  all.  I think  you  and  I shall  be  friends 
after  this.  You  must  come  up  and  see  me ; we  might 
kill  a salmon.  Good-by.”  And  he  pushed  off. 

Ned  stood  a moment,  in  his  thoughtful  way,  and 
then  went  back  up  the  steps  to  Miss  Anne,  who  was 
now  at  ease  as  to  Rose,  and  well  pleased  with  her 
dearest  nephew. 

“ What  was  it  ? ” she  inquired. 

“ Oh,  not  much  — nothing.” 

“ I think  I know.” 

“No!” 

“ Yes ; he  wanted  to  say  you  had  behaved  well.” 

“ Oh,  bother,  Aunt  Anne ! What  ’s  the  use  of  your 
asking,  if  you  know?  You  always  do  know.” 

Then  Ned  went  away,  and  Archibald  Lyndsay  came 
out  and  strode  uneasily  up  and  down  the  porch. 

“ Archie,”  said  Anne.  “ Brother.” 

“Well,  what  is  it?” 

“ Are  you  troubled  ? ” 

“Yes,  of  course.  How  should  I be  other  than 
troubled  ? ” 

“ But  why  ? ” 

“Why?  Jack  has  behaved  like  a selfish,  thought- 
less— ” 

“No j he  is  not  at  bottom  selfish.  Thoughtless  — 
yes;  and  he  has  the  vices  of  his  virtues.  He  is  so 
bold,  and  so  resolute  in  action — so  enjoys  the  peril  he 
creates.  Can’t  you  see  what  such  a character  wants  ? 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  199 


You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  Archie,  that  he  is 
quite  enough  punished.” 

“He  is  incidentally  punished.” 

“But—” 

“I  don’t  want  to  hear  any  more,  Anne.  He  has 
behaved  like  a blackguard.” 

“No.” 

“ Confound  the  women ! ” he  said,  and  walked 
away;  but  in  an  hour  was  at  the  shore  to  meet  Jack, 
who  landed  a little  dismayed,  his  grunting  cub  still 
expostulating  in  the  only  language  known  to  juve- 
nile bears. 

“ Well,  sir  ! I have  heard  this  agreeable  story ! ” 

“ But,  father  — 

“ I should  think  you  might  be  fatigued ! ” 

Now,  a good  kicking  would  have  been  preferred 
by  any  of  these  boys  to  the  father’s  sarcasm. 

“Go  up  to  the  house,  undress,  and  go  to  bed.  I 
don’t  want  to  see  you  for  a day.  No  words,  sir,  or  I 
shall  lose  my  temper.  Off  with  you  — you  are  not 
fit  to  associate  with  gentlemen.” 

Without  a word  more,  Jack  went  up  the  steps  and 
did  as  he  was  told;  in  consequence  of  wThich  Mar- 
garet wept  a little,  and  Anne,  who  thought  on  the 
whole  that  Jack  had  gotten  off  better  than  she  ex- 
pected, betook  herself  to  her  books,  with  a full  de- 
termination to  have  it  out  with  the  boy  in  her  own 
way,  and  at  a later  date. 

It  was  well  into  the  afternoon  when  Carington 
reached  his  camp,  and  found  Ellett  still  away  on 
the  river. 


200  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I shall  catch  it ! 99  said  Fred,  with  a grin  at  the 
prospect.  He  made  use  of  the  interval  to  change  his 
clothes  and  get  rid  of  the  stained  garments,  after 
which  he  ordered  a smudge,  pulled  open  the  tent- 
flaps,  and  cast  himself  on  the  camp  mattress,  for  the 
first  time  realizing  that  he  was  tired,  or,  at  least,  had 
that  sense  of  languor  which  follows  upon  intense  ex- 
citement. The  tent-fly  was  up — the  triangular  space 
thus  open  to  view  framed  prettily  the  beach,  the  men 
and  canoes,  the  river,  and  the  hills  beyond.  The 
smoke  of  the  cedar-smudge  at  times  dimmed  the  pic- 
ture. At  last,  being  absolutely  comfortable,  the  cush- 
ions just  right,  the  midge  and  black  fly  routed,  he 
carefully  filled  and  lit  his  pipe,  reflecting,  as  he  did 
so,  on  the  varied  value  of  tobacco,  which  he  had 
never  misused.  Next  he  sought  in  one  pocket  after 
another,  until  he  came  upon  a worn  note-book. 
Among  its  scraps  of  verse  and  memoranda  he  found 
the  well-known  apostrophe  of  El  Din  Attar  to  the 
pipe.  He  read  it  with  a smile. 

“ i O wife  of  the  soul,  thou  art  wiser  than  any  who 
bide  in  the  harem.  A maker  of  peace  thou  art  and  a 
builder  of  prudence  between  temptation  and  the  hour 
of  decision.  Can  anger  abide  with  the  pipe,  or  a 
gnat  in  the  smoke  of  the  tent-fire  ? Lo,  wine  is  but 
wine  for  the  simple,  and  a pipe  but  a pipe  for  the 
foolish ; and  what  is  a song  to  the  dumb,  or  a rose 
to  the  eye  that  is  blind  ? A bud  of  the  rose  findeth 
June  on  the  breast  of  the  dark-eyed;  a song  must  be 
sung  by  the  heart  of  the  hearer.  And  thus  are  the 
pipe  and  the  smoker.  Also  of  it  the  king  hath  no 
more  joy  than  the  beggar,  saith  El  Din  Attar.’ 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


201 


u A pipe  is  a pipe,  and  a rose  is  a rose,  be  it  prim  or 
not,”  said  the  happy  young  fellow,  laughing.  “ There 
is  no  new  wisdom.  To  think  what  Wordsworth 
would  have  said  to  that?  If  Hamlet  could  have 
played  upon  this  pipe,  would  he  have  been  nicer  to 
Ophelia?”  His  own  meerschaum  had  been  a friendly 
counselor  at  times.  “ Gracious ! ” he  laughed  outright 
— ~a  good  sign  of  a man  that  he  can  soliloquize 
laughter  — “ if  I should  fall  in  love,  and  the  woman 
hate  tobacco  ! ” He  let  his  fancy  wander,  and  began 
to  reflect,  lazily,  and  yet  with  some  curiosity,  on  the 
person  he  had  saved  from  a serious,  if  not  fatal, 
calamity.  “ I got  out  of  that  comedy  pretty  well,”  he 
said  to  himself.  u But,  by  George ! it  is  rather  more 
awkward  to  put  a person  — a woman  — under  such 
an  obligation  as  this.  How  I should  hate  it ! I won- 
der, does  she  ? I suppose  she  won’t  be  at  breakfast. 
That,  at  least,  is  a comfort.”  Then  he  reflected  that, 
with  people  such  as  these,  he  would  not  be  too  ab- 
surdly overwhelmed  with  gratitude.  At  last  he 
turned  to  a book,  fully  satisfied  that,  on  the  whole, 
he  had  the  best  of  it,  and  that  there  was  no  need  to 
growl  at  Fate. 

In  a minute  or  two  he  exclaimed,  u In-door  poetry, 
that”;  and  dropped  the  volume  of  too  dainty  verse. 
The  substance  beneath  was  not  worth  the  polish  on 
top.  He  was  not  in  a book  mood,  or  disposed  to 
anchor.  The  hours  slipped  by  without  freight  of 
urgent  question  or  answer.  He  was  in  a dreamy 
state,  and,  liking  the  hazy  indistinctness  of  its  de- 
mands, invented  for  his  use,  with  a smile  of  approval, 
the  word,  “ Yaguearies.” 


202  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Smiling,  lie  made  note  of  this  verbal  find,  as  Ellett 
came  np  the  beach. 

“What  pleases  you,  Fred?  And  what  is  all  this 
row  the  men  are  talking  about?” 

“ One  at  a time.  I was  hoping  that  the  woman  I 
shall  love  will  take  generously  to  my  pipe.” 

“ She  will  be  a fool  if  she  don’t.  I always  advise  the 
women  never  to  marry  a man  who  does  n’t  smoke.  You 
see,  if  they  fall  out  a bit,  she  can  always  say,  ‘ Well, 
just  take  a cigar,  Fred,  and  think  it  over.’  I am  sure 
the  proportion  of  divorces  must  be  smaller  among  the 
couples  that  include  a smoker.  Good  notion,  that ! ” 
“ It  is  on  the  heights  of  wisdom ! ” 

“ Is  n’t  it  ? And  you  have  n’t  been  fishing  ? ” 

“Yes;  I did  fish,  but  I got  no  fish.  I caught  a 
mild  little  adventure.” 

“ Michelle  began  to  tell  me  — ” 

“ Michelle  be  hanged ! These  guides  are  always 
dramatic ! ” 

“ Well,  and  what  was  it  happened  ? Tell  me.” 

“ Talk  to  you  about  that  by  and  by.”  He  was  in- 
disposed to  have  too  much  made  of  the  incidents  of 
the  morning.  Why,  he  could  hardly  have  explained. 
He  did  not  want  Miss  Lyndsay  discussed.  Perhaps 
this  was  what  the  doctors  call  a prodrome — of  a mal- 
ady known  to  man  and  maid.  Love  may,  like  other 
forces  in  life,  assume  many  forms  before  it  unmasks 
and  we  know  it  as  love.  The  correlation  of  forces 
obtains  in  the  world  of  the  emotions  as  well  as  in 
that  of  matter. 

“How  confoundedly  queer  you  are  sometimes, 
Fred ! I can  wait,  I suppose ; but  I don’t  see  why.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


203 


“Oh,  because  my  mind  is  an  absolute  vacuum. 
That  is  a rather  interesting  thought,  Oliver,  quite 
worthy  of  Boston ! Fancy  an  entire  mental  vacuum ! 
Is  it  any  more  possible  than  a physical  one  ? Don’t 
you  think  there  may  be  a zero  of  thought,  as  of 
cold  — or  of  heat,  I should  say?” 

“Nonsense ! ” cried  Ellett. 

“Want  to  know?  Do  you?  Well,  I was  seriously 
thinking  that  when  we  can  get  photographs  in  colors, 
it  will  be  a delightful  thing  to  collect  sunsets.” 

“ I don’t  care  a continental  malediction  for  sunsets, 
or  thought-zeroes,  either.  What ’s  the  matter  with 
you  ? Michelle  says  you  shot  a bear,  or  a young  wo- 
man— I am  not  sure  which.  He  was  a little  mixed 
about  it.  But  why  you  should  — ” 

“I  was  only  chaffing  you,  old  man.”  He  was 
really,  and  like  a child,  putting  off  an  inevitable  an- 
noyance. He  knew  he  must  talk  of  it  all  to  his 
friend,  and  felt  himself  ridiculously  unwilling  either 
to  make  it  seem  grave  or  to  treat  it  as  a matter  for 
jesting  comment.  Not  to  understand  the  cause  of 
your  own  states  of  indecision  is,  for  the  habitually 
decisive,  most  unpleasant,  and  yet  silence  may  make 
a thing  seem  important  which  is  not. 

“ What  happened,  Oliver,  was  this.”  And  he  quietly 
narrated  the  incidents  of  the  morning. 

“ I congratulate  you,  Fred.” 

“And  why  ? ” 

“Well,  if  you  are  idiot  enough  to  ask  that  in  sober 
earnest,  I am  not  fool  enough  to  reply  in  kind.  And 
so  Miss  Lyndsay  knows  who  her  bowman  was  ? ” 
“Yes.” 


204  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Did  she  like  it  ? ” 

“ How  the  deuce  do  I know  ? ” 

“But  I should  think  you  could  tell.  I hope  that 
girl  lost  her  temper.  Girls  who  can’t  lose  their  tem- 
pers can’t  lose  their  hearts.  That  ’s  pretty  good, 
Fred ! ” 

“Nonsense!  Who  wants  her  to  lose  her  heart? 
You  can  judge  for  yourself,  if  you  are  curious — we 
are  to  breakfast  with  them  to-morrow.  Get  any  fish  ? ” 
“One  — only  ten  pounds.  The  new  run  is  up, 
Pierre  says.  Saw  plenty  of  small  fish  leaping.  But 
about  these  Lyndsays  ? ” 

“ Let  ’s  have  supper.  Hang  the  Lyndsays ! ” 

“ Both,  with  all  my  heart  ; and  I will  also  suspend 
my  opinions,  if  it  suits  you  better.  Was  n’t  bad, 
that ! ” And  then,  as  Fred  walked  away  to  stir  up 
the  cook,  Ellett  muttered,  “ What  the  mischief ’s  gone 
wrong  with  the  man  ? ” And  so,  being  a kindly  fel- 
low and  considerate,  as  far  as  he  knew  how  to  evolve 
in  action  this  form  of  social  wisdom,  he  dropped  the 
subject  for  the  evening,  and,  as  Miss  Anne  used  to 
say,  “left  time  to  pull  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire, 
when  they  were  cool  enough  to  be  useful  as  diet.” 


CHAPTER  XY 


ARINGTON  had  slept  off  his  brief 
ill-humor,  and  the  friends  were  in  a 
happier  mood  as  they  flitted  down- 
stream next  day  to  breakfast  with 
the  Lyndsays. 

At  the  Cliff  Camp  things  were 
not  so  entirely  joyful.  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  after  a talk 
about  the  simple  bill  of  fare  with  the  black  cook  they 
had  brought  with  them,  paid  a furtive  visit  to  Jack, 
who  was  condemned  to  such  tranquillity  as  was  pos- 
sible, even  in  bed,  for  a human  machine  as  restless. 
She  administered  a tender  scolding,  and  left  him  with 
a book  or  two.  Next  she  softly  opened  Rose’s  door, 
and,  finding  her  comfortable  and  smiling,  said,  “No, 
dear,  you  are  to  keep  still  to-day,”  and  left  her  to 
reflect  that,  on  the  whole,  she  was  as  well  satisfied 
not  to  meet  the  “two  single  gentlemen  rolled  into 
one  ” before  the  entire  family.  However  clearly  the 
matter  had  been  explained,  there  remained,  and  she 
colored  as  she  thought  of  it,  the  remembrance  of  cer- 
tain things  she  had  said  to  her  bowman.  Nor  was 
it  quite  pleasing  to  imagine  herself  discussed  by  these 
two  strangers  over  their  evening  meal.  The  scene  in 
the  boat  — “ She  would  like  to  have  him  always  as 
her  bowman ! ” The  scene  on  the  beach ! And  then  the 

205 


206  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

obligation ! The  debt  to  an  unknown  man ! In  what 
currency  should  such  debts  be  paid  ? She  smiled,  as 
she  quoted  to  herself : 


What  need 

Good  turns  be  counted  as  a servile  bond 
To  bind  their  doers  to  receive  their  meed  ? 

Then,  having  no  other  more  consoling  thought  on 
hand,  she  began  to  recall  how  the  novelists  had  dealt 
with  these  situations.  A man  saves  your  life ! What 
then  ? As  far  as  she  remembered,  it  always  ended  in 
the  woman  giving  the  man  what  he  saved  — a life ! — 
her  life ! She  would  have  liked  to  have  certain  books 
to  see  precisely  what  they  did  say,  or  Aunt  Anne, 
who  was  herself  and  generally  all  books  beside.  As 
she  played  with  these  questions,  a little  amused  or  a 
trifle  annoyed,  Miss  Anne  knocked,  and  was  welcomed. 

u Aunt  Anne,”  she  cried  merrily,  “ what  would  you 
do  for  a man  who  saves  you  from  a horrible  mauling 
by  a bear,  or  possibly  from  death  ? ” 

“ The  novelists  marry  them.  That  cancels  the  debt, 
or  makes  the  woman  in  the  end  regret  the  man’s  skill 
and  strength.” 

“ Aunty,  that  is  very  cheap  cynicism  for  you,  and 
at  eight  a.  m.  ! What  will  you  be  at  dinner  f ” 

“ I repent,  dear.  I hate  the  sneer  — easy  and  ob- 
vious. I am  always  penitent  over  verbal  wicked- 
nesses that  are  mere  children  of  habit,  and  have  no 
wit  to  excuse  them.  Is  the  question,  dear,  worth 
considering  ? ” 

“ Oh,  but  seriously  — ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


207 


“I  mean  seriously.  Would  it  not  depend  on  the 
moral  make  of  the  people  concerned?  Clearly,  when 
those  involved  are  of  one  world,  likely  to  meet, — to 
have  continuous  relations  of  some  sort, — it  must  lead 
to  close  friendship  when  the  debt  of  life  is  merely 
between  man  and  man.” 

“Yes;  but  when  a woman  owes  an  unknown  per- 
son— a man  in  her  own  class — an  obligation  like 
this?  She  must  feel  it — really  feel  it,  as  I do.” 

“ My  dear,  you  are  a little  absurd.  Many  debts  re- 
main unpaid,  and  should  so  remain.  How  do  you  pay 
your  debts  to  Shakspere?  And,  after  all,  this  is  a 
small  affair  — Mr.  Carington  was  in  no  peril” 

“ No,  it  was  n?t  that.  The  thing  involved  courage 
and  decision.  Papa  has  told  me  all  of  it  — all.  And 
the  ball  went  only  a couple  of  feet  over  dear  Ned 
and  myself.  Any  one  but  a brave  and  positive  man 
would  have  hesitated  — and,  just  a moment  more! 
It  is  dreadful  to  think  of  it!  Dreadful!” 

“Your  gratitude  is  quite  too  analytical  for  me, 
dear.” 

“ But  do  you  believe,  aunty,  with  mama,  that  there 
cannot  be  true,  simple  friendships  between  man  and 
woman  ? ” 

“ Man  and  woman  ? A large  question.” 

“Yes.” 

“Certainty,  I believe  there  can  be — more  likely, 
more  easy,  more  possible  with  us  than  in  Europe.  I 
know  of  many  such,  where  what  was  in  youth  a friend- 
ship, limited  by  conventions,  became,  as  years  went 
on,  a larger,  deeper,  mdre  valuable  relation,  and  yet 
only  and  always  a friendship.” 


208 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


u Thank  you!” 

“I  think  myself  that  when  women — married  wo- 
men— grow  wise,  they  will  want  their  husbands  to 
have  women  friends.  Margaret  would  say,  ‘That  is 
an  old  maid’s  opinion.’  Nevertheless,  it  is  mine,  and, 
as  I have  chosen  never  to  marry,  it  is  valuable.  The 
old  maid  is  a sort  of  neutral,  with  the  wisdom  of 
both  sexes.” 

“I  should  like  to  choose  my  husband’s  female 
friends.” 

u Should  you  ? I have  not  talked  it  out  yet,  but 
now  I must  go.  I want  to  see  how  your  creditor 
behaves.  He  may  be  a true  Shylock  and  want  — 
how  many  pounds  do  you  weigh,  dear?” 

“ You  are  horrid,  aunty ! I certainly  do  not  think 
you  have  settled  my  questions.” 

“How  can  I?  or  you?  or  he,  for  that  matter? 
Time,  dear,  not  only  answers  letters,  but  also  doubts 
and  difficulties.  As  a consulting  physician,  I am 
told,  he  is  unsurpassed.  You  are,  naturally,  in  a 
state  of  unease  to-day,  and  had  better  wait  until  you 
see  what  kind  of  a draft  on  the  bank  of  gratitude 
you  are  called  on  to  pay,  or  honor,  if  you  like  the 
word  better.  I don’t  know  whether,  nowadays,  com- 
mercial men  use  the  word,  or  the  thing.  You  might 
send  him  a silver  pitcher,  the  inscription  to  be,  1 To 
my  preserver,  from  the  preserved,’  or  else — ” 

“ Go  away,  bad  aunty ! ” cried  Rose,  laughing. 
Once  alone,  she  began  upon  her  coffee  and  rolls,  and 
wished  it  was  next  month,  and  thus,  like  Carington, 
turned  over  her  hot  chestnuts  to  pussy-cat  time. 
They  were  too  hot  for  her. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  209 


Miss  Anne  went  ont  on  the  porch,  and  began  watch- 
ing, with  the  interest  she  took  in  almost  all  earthly 
pursuits,  Ned’s  efforts  to  tie  a salmon-fly,  while  Dick, 
beside  him,  was  feeding  the  drosera’s  hairy  leaves 
with  minute  black  gnats,  and  considering,  through  a 
lens,  the  ferocious  certainty  with  which  the  vegetable 
monster  closed  upon  the  captives  cast  among  its  sen- 
sitive limbs.  Presently  Dick  said  to  her : 

“ Aunt  Anne,  is  father  very  angry  with  Jack?” 
“Yes.” 

“I’m  sorry,  because — because  he  really  did  n’t  have 
time  to  think  — and  it  was  n’t  cowardly.” 

“No,  it  was  n’t  that.” 

“ But  I ran  away.”  He  had  a vague  feeling  that  to 
prove  himself  to  have  gone  amiss  would  be  to  lessen 
the  enormity  of  Jack’s  conduct. 

“ You  went  into  the  wood  to  call  the  men,  and  were 
the  first  back  on  the  beach,  my  Prince  Rosy-locks. 
You  are  a first-rate  liar;  but,  as  you  are  a Lyndsay, 
you  are  not  a coward,  and  you  had  better  kick  your- 
self well  for  insulting  Dick  Lyndsay ! 

I may  not  turn,  I may  not  flee, 

Though  many  be  the  spears ; 

I should  not  face  with  better  grace 
The  army  of  my  fears. 

I do  not  blame  Jacky  as  much  as  your  father  does. 
I understand  him,  I think.” 

“ He  feels  awfully,  Aunt  Anne.” 

“That  will  do  no  harm,  Dick.”  The  boy  turned 
again  to  the  drosera  and  his  lens. 

14 


210  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Anne  was  herself  so  entirely  brave  that  not  even 
the  prospect  of  the  coming  of  added  pain  had  ever 
been  able  to  make  her  timid.  All  forms  of  courage 
were  to  her  intelligibly  beautiful,  knowing  as  she  did 
that  if  its  mere  instinctive  form  be  meaningless,  it  is, 
in  its  higher  developments,  the  knightly  defense  of  all 
the  virtues.  She  pulled  Dick’s  ear,  playfully,  and  said, 
finally: 

“ Jack  will  be  out  at  noon.  The  less  you  say  about 
it,  the  better.” 

“I  guess  so,”  remarked  Dick. 

“Ah,  here  comes  Mr.  Carington.  Now,  boys,  be- 
have yourselves  at  breakfast.  No  nonsense,  mind! 
This  is  to  be  a very  pretty-behaved  family ; we  will 
make  up  for  it  at  lunch.” 

The  two  gentlemen  were  in  turn  presented.  There 
were  the  ordinary  greetings,  and  no  word  of  allusion 
to  the  day  before,  except  that  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  in  a 
quiet  aside,  said  to  Carington: 

“ I shall  not  be  quite  comfortable  until  I say  how 
much  I thank  you  — for  all  of  us  — all.” 

“ That  is  more  than  enough,”  he  returned.  “ How 
is  Miss  Lyndsay  l ” 

“ Wonderfully  well ! ” And  presently  they  went  in 
to  breakfast. 

“Here  by  me,  please,  Mr.  Carington.  Anne,  sit 
next  to  Mr.  Carington.  This  seat,  Mr.  Ellett  — on 
the  left.” 

The  boys,  a little  subdued,  contented  themselves 
with  quiet  inspection  of  the  new  guests,  and  the  talk 
slipped  readily,  in  skilful  hands,  from  the  subjects  of 
fish  and  the  weather,  and  flies  and  rods,  to  other  less 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  211 


trivial  matters.  Anne  was  unusually  silent.  She  was 
studying  the  unconscious  Carington,  who  soon  noted 
the  absence  of  Jack,  and  as  quickly  understood  its 
meaning. 

“Yes,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ these  Graspe  men  are  most 
interesting.  They  are  clever,  competent,  and  inher- 
ently kindly,  really  good  fellows  ,*  but  their  trouble 
is,  and  it  does  not  trouble  them,  that  they  have  no 
persistent  energy.  I confess  that,  being  myself,  at 
least  while  here,  without  energy,  I like  its  absence.” 
“ Is  n’t  it  a vast  relief,  after  the  endless  restlessness 
of  our  people,”  said  Anne,  “to  fall  among  folks  who  are 
contented,  and  home-loving,  and  so  uncomplicated  ? ” 
“ I certainly  think  so,”  said  Carington.  “And  what 
a surprise  it  is  to  meet  the  stray  descendants  of  loy- 
alists hereabouts  and  on  the  ‘ St.  John’s’ — I ought  to 
say  the  ‘Aroostook/  there  are  so  many  ‘ St.  John's.’ 
Some  of  the  best  of  the  Canadians  are  descendants  of 
those  people ; but,  for  the  most  part,  those  who  settled 
in  certain  quarters  of  Lower  Canada  are  down  again 
to  the  level  of  mere  laborers  or  fishermen.” 

“And  no  better  off,”  said  Ellett.  “ I mean  no  more 
energetic  than — well,  than  I am.  I hate  the  very 
word  energy.  I quite  share  your  opinions,  Miss 
Lyndsay.  There  is  a nice  little  conundrum  about 
that  word  — sounds  better  in  French.  But,  pardon 
me,  I never  repeat  conundrums,  or  make  puns.” 

“ I am  so  sorry.  Are  you  past  persuasion  ? ” 

“ Entirely.” 

“ Even  as  a personal  confidence  ? ” 

“That  is  another  matter.  It  will  keep.  I think, 
Mr.  Lyndsay,  you  were  about  to  say — ” 


212  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I forget.  But  no  matter.  One  may  talk  about,  and 
about  things,  at  breakfast  especially.  It  is  pleasant 
to  feel  that  you  may  kick — that  any  one  concerned 
may  kick — the  foot-ball  of  talk  without  reference  to 
a goal.” 

“ I don’t  think  my  friend  Carington  would  agree 
to  that,”  said  Ellett.  “ He  likes  talk  to  be  well  feath- 
ered, and  go  straight  home  — ” 

“And  I like  it,”  cried  Anne,  “ to  be  well  feathered, 
and  go  zigzag  home,  or  not,  like  a bird.” 

“And,  for  my  part,  aside  from  Ellett’s  calumnious 
nonsense,”  laughed  Carington,  “ I have  no  social 
creed  as  to  good  talk.  If  it  bears  sharp  analysis,  it 
is  probably  poor  talk.” 

“ But,”  said  Anne,  “ there  are  some  essentials.  One 
must  reverse  the  great  maxim  that  it  is  more  blessed 
to  give  than  to  receive.” 

Mrs.  Lyndsay  regarded  the  maiden  lady  with  a look 
of  reprobation,  in  which  were  trial,  judgment,  and 
execution.  She  reserved  her  verbal  attack  for  a bet- 
ter occasion,  while  Anne,  unconscious  of  offense,  went 
on,  “Was  n’t  it  Mr.  Lowell,  Archie,  who  said  at  our 
table,  when  you  questioned  him  as  to  the  best  talkers 
he  had  met,  1 Oh,  the  best  are  those  who  meet  you  ’ ? 
I thought  that  delicately  put.” 

“But  then  he  added,”  said  Lyndsay,  “when  you 
mentioned  Gr.  M.  as  on  the  whole  the  most  remark- 
able of  dinner  talkers,  that  he  had  not  the  essential 
conversational  art  of  punctuation.  That  his  sen- 
tences were  like  those  of  Judge  Jeffries,  eternal 
How  one  spoils  such  a thing  in  the  telling  ! We  all 
smiled  at  it  a little.  Our  friend  himself  liked  an 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


213 


audience,  and  to  have,  at  times,  the  royal  freedom  of 
unbroken  talk.  North,  a friend  of  ours,  Mr.  Caring- 
ton,  has  a theory  that  breakfast  talks  are  the  best.” 
“ I should  think  so,”  said  Ellett,  and  then  began  to 
think  he  had  been  rather  critical,  and  added,  “I 
mean  — well,  I usually  breakfast  alone,  and  a fellow 
can’t  talk  to  himself.” 

“ This  fellow  can,”  cried  Anne. 

“ He  meant,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ that  breakfast  talk  is 
apt  to  be  general  and  gay;  but  that  at  dinner  you 
have  the  cares  of  the  day  on  your  back.  It  takes  a 
little  effort,  or  a little  champagne,  to  get  up  steam.” 
“ But  I have  no  cares,”  said  Ellett. 

“ Then,”  cried  Miss  Lyndsay,  “ we  will  all  dine  with 
you,  and  you  shall  do  all  the  talking.” 

“That  would  suit  my  sister  admirably,”  laughed 
her  brother.  “ Did  you  ever  notice  how  silent  many 
of  these  woodmen  are  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Carington,  “that  is  true.  The  wood- 
land life  has  the  same  effect  upon  me.” 

“ That ’s  curious,”  remarked  Miss  Lyndsay.  “ Cer- 
tain people  blast  me  with  utter  dumbness.  It  might 
be  useful  if  it  were  kept  up  long  enough  to  form  a 
habit.  I mention  that  to  anticipate  my  brother.  One 
does  sometimes  say  what  one  does  n’t  want  to  say  — 
but,  oh,  I do  think  one  much  more  often  wants  dread- 
fully to  say  what  one  had  better  not  say.” 

“I  think  that  is  true,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  with 
reminiscent  gravity. 

“ Which  ? or  both  ? ” said  Anne,  in  an  aside. 

“ By  the  way,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ talking  of  these  un- 
lucky relics  of  the  royalists,  and,  in  fact,  of  too  many 

14* 


214  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

on  these  coasts,  the  most  energetic  of  us  would  suc- 
cumb to  their  environment.” 

“Yes;  there  is  that  poor  devil,  Colkett,”  said 
Carington,  “a  good  hunter,  a hard  worker  — I am 
told,  a first-rate  lumberman  — and  yet  always  in 
want.” 

“ To  judge  from  my  daughter’s  account,”  said  Mrs. 
Lyndsay,  “ the  wife  is  his  difficulty.” 

By  this  time  the  boys  were  at  ease. 

“What  is  an  ‘environment/  Aunt  Anne?”  said 
Ned.  “Is  a wife  an  environment?” 

Ellett  laughed.  “ Sometimes  she  is.” 
“Environments  are  surroundings  — a man’s  sur- 
roundings.” She  always  answered  the  boys  seriously. 

“But  does  a wife  surround  a man?”  urged  Ned, 
oblivious  of  his  place  as  a boy  among  elders  in  his 
keen  pursuit  of  a meaning. 

“I  should  think  so!”  said  Carington.  “Wait  till 
your  turn  comes!  You  will  see!” 

“ I am  quite  sure  Dorothy  Maybrook  is  a fair  illus- 
tration,” said  Anne.  “It  is  a good  sermon  on  the 
conduct  of  the  matrimonial  life  to  see  that  woman 
what  she  calls  ‘ p’int  ’ poor  old  Hiram.” 

“An  interesting  person,”  returned  Carington. 
“ Don’t  you  think  so  ? ” 

“ It  hurts  a fellow  to  see  a woman  as  placid  as 
that,”  remarked  Ellett.  Whereupon  Miss  Anne  ad- 
justed her  glasses,  and  took  a look  at  the  small,  ro- 
tund man. 

“ Why  ? ” she  said.  “ Why  does  it  hurt  you  ? ” 

He  hesitated  a trifle,  and  then  replied,  “Well,  it 
sort  of  knocks  all  the  excuses  out  of  a fellow’s  life.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  215 


u Certainly ,”  laughed  Anne.  “ She  does  n’t  pet  her 
moods,”  and  she  concluded  that  there  was  something 
in  the  ruddy  gentleman,  who  looked  so  pleased  at 
what  he  had  said. 

“ I have  known  her  under  many  circumstances,”  said 
Mrs.  Lyndsay,  “ and  I doubt  if  she  has  any  moods.” 

“ I rather  suspect,”  said  Lyndsay,  u that  Mrs.  May- 
brook’s  equality  of  temper  is  partly  natural,  and 
partly  a singularly  intelligent  acquired  capacity  to 
make  the  best  of  her  surroundings.” 

u Environment,”  said  Ned,  under  his  breath,  and 
now  satisfied. 

“ Really,  Rose  knows  more  about  her  than  even  my 
wife,  who  has  known  her  longer;  but  Rose  has  a 
curious  way  of  getting  at  people,  and  I have  seldom 
seen  Rose  so  carried  away  by  any  one.” 

u I envy  people  the  power  of  understanding  people 
on  short  acquaintance.  I like  everybody  at  first, 
and  then,  by  and  by,  I have  to  change  my  mind. 
Now,  Carington — ” 

“ Nonsense  ! ” cried  his  friend. 
u Indeed ! ” exclaimed  Anne.  She  thought  Mr.  Ellett 
oddly  frank. 

“ From  all  I can  hear,”  said  Carington,  “ Mrs.  May- 
brook  must  be  a kind  of  female  Marcus  Aurelius.” 
This  was  quite  too  much  for  the  boys,  who  began  to 
laugh ; and  then,  as  Lyndsay  and  his  wife  followed 
their  example,  Miss  Anne  felt  obliged  to  explain,  in 
her  amusing  way,  why  this  remark  had  so  unaccount- 
ably disturbed  the  nerves  of  the  household.  Lynd- 
say defended  himself  with  seriousness.  As  they  rose 
to  have  their  cigars  outside,  Ned  said : 


216  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“We  are  going  up  to  the  beach,  father.  Rose  lost 
a pin  there.  May  we  take  lunch,  mama?  There  is 
plenty  of  brass  knocker  from  breakfast.” 

“ Pardon  me,”  said  Carington,  “ my  dear  fellow ; 
but  what  on  earth  is  1 brass  knocker’?” 

Lyndsay  laughed.  “That  is  a family  bit  of  my 
Scotch  education.  The  lowland  Scotchman  calls  the 
relics  of  a meal  the  1 brass  knocker/  because  once,  I sup- 
pose, the  poor  relations,  who  came  to  get  the  remains 
of  a feast,  were  expected  to  knock,  and  not  to  ring.” 
“How  curious.  Yes,  thank  you,  I will  smoke. 
Mrs.  Lyndsay?” 

“ Oh,  my  women  are  angelic  about  that ! ” 

“ Indeed,  if  we  were  fallen  angels,”  said  Anne,  “ we 
could  hardly  be  more  used  to  it.”  Then  she  said,  “ I 
hope  we  may  see  you  and  Mr.  Ellett  often.  I must 
go  and  tell  Rose  what  a pleasant  chat  we  have  had.” 
As  she  turned,  she  swayed  a little,  so  as  to  touch 
Mr.  Carington.  “ Pardon  me,”  she  said,  “ I am  not 
over-strong,  and  it  now  and  then  makes  me  awk- 
ward.” She  was  really  in  extreme  pain.  “ Good-by.” 
He  stepped  aside  to  let  her  pass,  struck,  as  she 
moved  away,  with  her  pallor.  It  was  a sign  of  un- 
usual liking  in  this  woman  when  she  permitted  her- 
self the  least  allusion  to  her  own  feebleness. 

Carington  was  in  the  gayest  of  moods  as  their 
canoe  went  up  the  river. 

“ He  has  very  good  cigars,”  remarked  Ellett. 

“ Admirable ! And  the  air  up  here,  I have  noticed, 
keeps  them  in  first-rate  condition.  Cigars  are  a good 
deal  like  people,  Oliver  — they  are  unaccountably 
changeable.  Ever  notice  that?” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  217 


“ Yes  5 but  a pipe  is  an  unchanging  friend.  Cigars 
are  like  women.  That  ’s  a good  idea  ! ” 

“ Bother  your  ideas ! What  interesting  people ! It 
seemed  to  me  a wholesome  atmosphere  — strong  and 
true  and  honest.  Master  Jack  did  not  appear.  I 
suppose  he  was  in  disgrace.” 

“Very  likely.” 

“ That  boy  Ned  is  a quaint  little  fellow.” 

“We  only  wanted  the  sister  and  that  scamp  to 
make  up  the  entire  family.” 

“I  am  not  so  sure  about  the  scamp  — the  black 
sheep  ; I fancy  he  is  hardly  more  than  brown.  I was 
rather  hard  on  him ; but  I was  angry  enough  to  have 
thrashed  him,  and  yet  I could  n’t  help  liking  his 
pluck.” 

“ It  was  rather  out  of  place,  Fred.” 

“Yes.  To  know  when  to  fear,  and  what  to  fear,  is 
wisdom.” 

“ I think  you  have  it  to-day,  Fred.  You  are  afraid 
of  that  girl.” 

“ Upon  my  word,  you  do  have  at  times  the  most  re- 
markable flashes  of  intelligence.  You  are  right.” 

“ But  why  ? The  awkwardness  of  the  affair  seems 
to  me  to  lie  on  the  lady’s  side.” 

“ I wish  it  were  not.  She  is  young,  and  — well, 
rather  pretty,  and  of  course  she  will  be  effusive,  and 
enthuse,  and  then  there  will  be  a few  tears,  and  I shall 
feel  like  a fool ! ” 

“ It ’s  a great  thing,  Fred,  to  have  no  imagination. 
Now,  it  would  n’t  trouble  me  in  the  least.  She  will 
just  say,  1 1 am  so  much  obliged,  Mr.  Carington,’  and 
you  will  say,  ‘ Oh,  it  really  does  n’t  matter,  Miss  Lynd- 


218 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GBEEN 


say.’  People  don’t  go  splashing  their  emotions  about 
like  a wet  dog  shaking  off  the  water  on  everybody. 
Good  notion,  that ! ” 

“ You  are  a social  and  consolatory  Solomon.  Give 
me  your  tobacco.  I shall  go  back  to-morrow  and 
have  it  over.  Will  you  fish  the  upper  pool  this 
afternoon  ? ” 

“ Either.” 

“Hang  your  politeness,  Oliver.  There  is  nothing 
gives  as  much  trouble  as  ‘ either.’  It  ought  to  be 
kicked  out  of  society.” 

“ Then  the  lower  pool.” 

“ Good!” 

There  was  a little  interchange  of  views  at  the  Cliff 
Camp  as  to  their  guests;  a certain  pleasantness  of 
relief  at  finding  Carington  one  who  could  confer  an 
immense  obligation  and  appear  totally  to  ignore  it. 
Perhaps,  of  all  of  them,  Anne  the  best  appreciated 
this ; for  she  understood,  as  did  neither  her  brother 
nor  his  simple  and  direct  wife,  that  Rose  felt  and 
must  deeply  feel  a sense  of  indebtedness,  and  the 
difficulty  of  at  once  putting  herself  into  the  right 
relations  with  the  man  who  had,  without  peril  to  him- 
self, left  on  her  a debt  which  could  never  be  canceled. 
It  was  easy  to  say  about  it  to  Rose  too  much  or  too 
little;  but,  with  her  usual  clearness  of  head  as  to 
matters  of  conduct,  Miss  Lyndsay  now  held  her 
tongue,  nor  did  Rose  tempt  her  to  speak  further. 

As  to  Jack,  he  came  out  of  his  room  at  one,  adding 
an  hour  out  of  pure  dislike  to  having  any  one  think 
he  cared.  Anne  spoke  to  him,  as  he  passed  her,  a 
mere  “ How  are  you,  Jack  ? ” but  he  merely  answered, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


219 


u Good  morning,  Aunt  Anne,”  and  went  at  once  to 
the  barrel  in  which  he  had  left  his  cub.  It  was 
gone;  but  whither  he  never  knew.  Then  he  came 
in  to  get  his  rifle,  a gift  from  Anue  on  his  last  and 
fifteenth  birthday.  That,  too,  was  gone.  Upon  this 
he  got  a crust  of  bread,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
woods,  where  the  black  flies  were  more  active  than 
his  conscience.  At  last  he  climbed  a high  dead  pine, 
and  sat  in  the  wind,  and  saw,  far  away  on  the  river, 
his  father’s  canoe.  He  felt  that  he  had  been  ill-used, 
and  then,  remembering  Rose  on  the  beach,  with  the 
blood  about  her,  had  an  hour  or  so  of  a boy’s  un- 
happiness. Toward  evening  he  found  a woodchuck’s 
burrow,  which  he  resolved  to  dig  out;  and,  some- 
what comforted,  at  last  wandered  back  to  the  cabin, 
all  other  emotions  having  given  way  before  the  over- 
whelming hunger  to  which,  in  his  wrath,  he  had  need- 
lessly condemned  himself. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


HE  fishing  had  been  fortunate  in  the 
Cliff  Camp  waters,  and  now,  some- 
what later  than  usual,  dinner  being 
over,  the  whole  family,  save  Anne, 
was  collected  in  the  large  central 
room  of  the  cabin.  The  fireplace 
was  of  a size  to  hold  logs  five  feet  in  length,  and  was 
built  of  rough,  unhewn,  gray  rock.  As  the  evening 
was  cold,  a great  pile  of  birch- wood  filled  the  wide 
chimney-throat  with  ruddy  flame,  and  the  lamp 
which  hung  overhead  and  the  candles  on  the  table 
were  scarcely  needed  to  light  the  room.  Here  and 
there  were  books.  In  the  corner  stood  a rod  or  two 
in  their  cases ; on  the  racks  a rifle  and  shot-gun. 

Lyndsay  was  busy  with  his  salmon-flies,  and  was 
carefully  inspecting  the  multitude  of  feathered  lures 
which  every  one  collects  and  no  one  uses.  On  a 
cushion,  upon  the  floor,  sat  Rose,  in  the  ripest  glow 
of  the  red  birch  flame.  She  was  all  in  virginal  white, 
and  with  this  innocence  of  color  the  fire  was  playing 
pretty  tricks,  flushing  the  white  sweep  of  the  skirt 
with  rose,  or  playing  hide-and-seek  with  flitting  shad- 
ows, as  they  hid  among  the  folds,  and  were  chased 
hither  and  thither  when  the  long  jets  of  flame  spurted 

out  at  the  ends  of  the  logs. 

220 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  221 


Jack  being  still  in  some  disgrace,  onr  Rose  must 
have  his  head  in  her  lap,  the  lad’s  sturdy  figure 
stretched  out  on  the  floor.  Beside  him,  Ned  sat 
cross-legged,  like  a Turk,  and  stared  into  the  fire. 
Dick,  at  a side-table,  with  a candle  to  himself,  was 
far  away  in  another  world,  watching  a wild  mena- 
gerie of  rotifers  spinning  around  on  the  field  of  his 
microscope. 

They  were  quiet,  all  of  them,  in  the  company  of 
their  thoughts.  At  the  table,  Mrs.  Lyndsay  was  deep 
in  “ Belinda.”  She  dearly  loved  those  pleasant  books, 
still  worth  the  reading,  and  often  gay  with  very  de- 
lightful chat.  Now  and  then  she  read  a bit  aloud  to 
her  husband.  She  cared  little  for  the  great  books, 
and  liked  best  the  level  lowlands  of  literature. 
When  Anne  was  lost  in  book-land,  and  it  took  two 
or  three  questions  to  call  her  back  to  consciousness 
of  her  kind,  Margaret  found  it  impossible  to  compre- 
hend her  absorption.  Anne  had  once  said  to  her, 
“ There  are  books  which  carry  one  away  to  the  moun- 
tain-peaks, and  will  not  let  one  go  without  a ransom.” 
Then  Margaret  had  smiled,  and  replied,  with  the 
nearest  approach  to  sarcasm  of  which  she  was  capa- 
ble, that  it  was  well  there  were  some  people  left 
down  below  to  order  the  dinners  and  see  to  the  ser- 
vants. 

In  the  cool  air  without,  and  well  wrapped  up, 
Anne  Lyndsay  swung  gently  in  her  hammock  be- 
neath the  porch.  It  was  well  understood  among 
these  people,  who  so  deeply  loved  her,  that  at  times 
she  liked  to  be  alone,  and  then  was  to  be  left  to  her- 
self. She  had  struggled  for  this  freedom  from  kindly 


222 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


intrusion,  and  years  ago  had  won  it,  but  not  without 
some  contest  with  Margaret,  who  was  quite  unable  to 
see  why  any  one  could  want  to  be  solitary.  Anne 
would  say,  “ I am  never  alone,  my  dear,”  and  was  of 
opinion  that  the  hardest  thing  to  get  in  a large  fam- 
ily were  these  sacred  hours  of  privacy.  Too  many 
women  know  that. 

She  was  just  now  absolutely  free  from  pain,  and  in 
unrestrained  enjoyment  of  the  cool,  dry  air  of  the 
Canadian  river,  which  ran  below,  and  sent  up  at  un- 
accountable intervals  strange  noises  as  she  listened. 
Now  it  was  a low,  booming,  bass  note,  and  now  min- 
gled sounds,  as  of  cries,  and  distant  chuckle  of  sup- 
pressed mirth,  where,  above  and  below,  the  voyaging 
waters  hopped  merrily  over  their  rocky  path  to  the 
sea.  The  moon  was  high  overhead,  and  lit  up  the  wa- 
ter with  life  of  light,  when  here  and  there  the  checked 
current  rose  in  snowy  foam  over  some  huge  boulder, 
dropped  ages  since  on  the  mighty  portage  of  the  ice- 
swept  continent.  Nor  cry  nor  insect-note  came  from 
the  somber  masses  of  the  hills.  After  awhile  she 
turned  her  head,  and  looked  in  through  the  window 
at  the  good  people  who  were  so  near  to  her  heart. 
Then  she  called,  “Jack!  Jack!” 

The  boy  got  up  and  went  out  to  her. 

“ Sit  down  on  that  stool  beside  me,”  she  said.  He 
obeyed  in  silence. 

“How  is  the  cub,  Jacky  Giant-Killer?” 

“ He  is  gone ! ” 

“Indeed!  I am  sorry  for  that.  I wanted  to  see 
it.  Did  it  get  away?” 

“No.  I suppose  father  gave  it  to  Tom,  or  some- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


223 


body.  I don’t  care.  It  was  my  cub.  I don’t  care,” 
he  repeated. 

“Jacky,  if  Goliath  had  lied  in  proportion  to  his 
size,  he  could  not  have  lied  larger  than  that.  Now, 
is  n’t  that  so?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  care,  and  I do.”  Then  he  broke  out 
angrily,  “ The  thing  is,  Aunt  Anne,  nobody  asked  me 
a question  ; nobody  wanted  to  give  me  a chance ; and 
that  long-legged  fellow  that  shot  the  bear,  he  said  — 
I wish  he  was  my  size ! — he  called  me  an  idiot.” 
“The  description  was  brief  and  correct.  What 
brains  you  have  — and  they  are  good  enough  — you 
did  not  use.  Three  people  called  to  you  to  drop  the 
cub.  Why  did  n’t  you?  You  see  what  mischief  came 
of  it ; and  how  much  worse  it  might  have  been  I do 
not  like  to  think.  Why  did  you  hold  on  to  the  cub  ?” 
“I  just  could  n’t  let  it  go,  Aunt  Anne.  You  ’re 
awful  good  to  a fellow.  There  is  no  one  like  you.” 
And  here  she  captured  his  hand. 

“Why  could  n’t  you?  It  was  only  to  do  that.” 
And  she  let  his  hand  drop,  and  caught  it  again. 

“ It  would  have  been  cowardly.” 

“Of  course — I knew  it;  I knew  what  you  thought; 
but  I wanted  you  to  say  it  out.” 

“ Nobody  else  has  asked  me.  I did  n’t  think  that 
bear  would  go  after  anybody  but  me  and  the  cub,  and 
I just  held  on.” 

“I  see.  It  explains  what  you  felt;  it  does  not 
excuse  what  you  did.  This  is  not  quite  all  of  it.” 
He  was  silent. 

“You  were  afraid  some  one  would  think  you  were 
afraid.  Was  n’t  that  a sort  of  cowardice,  Jack?” 


224  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


He  was  clear  of  head  now,  and  this  arrow  went  to 
the  mark. 

“ Yes,”  he  said ; u I ’d  hate  to  think  I was  afraid.” 
“ What  is  courage  ? ” 

“ Oh,  not  to  be  afraid ; never  to  be  afraid.” 

“Is  that  all?  Is  n’t  there  a nobler  courage  that 
goes  hand  in  hand  with  reason  and  love  and  unselfish- 
ness ? A man  ought  to  fear  when  there  is  reason  to 
fear  — to  fear  evil,  or  hurt  of  others,  or  dishonor,  or 
sin.  You  have  unreasoning  courage.  How  are  you 
better  than  a bulldog?  I remember  once,  at  your 
father’s  table,  that  I asked  a great  and  wise  general 
as  to  another,  who  was  famous  for  mere  heedless 
bravery,  what  he  thought  of  him.  4 Oh,’  he  said,  4 he 
was  a great  thunderbolt  of  war,  to  be  thrown  by  a 
hand  not  his  own.’  The  man  who  spoke  was  brave  as 
are  God’s  bravest,  Jack;  but  he  had  always  his  wits 
about  him,  and  knew  when  to  go  on  and  when  to  fall 
back.  Is  n’t  that  the  finer  courage  ? ” 

“ I guess  so,”  said  the  boy.  And  then,  abruptly, 
44 Are  you  ever  afraid,  Aunt  Anne?” 

44  No.”  And  it  was  true. 

44  But  if  you  were  in  a battle,  or  were  going  to  die  ?” 
44  I am ! ” 

44  Oh,  but  soon  ? ” 

44  I am!  Look  here,  Jacky,  my  dear  Jacky.  I 
never  talk  of  myself ; but  I will  this  once,  for  you. 
I am  a very  ill  woman ; in  a year  or  two  I shall  die. 
It  is  certain.  I am  to  leave  this  world  and  those  I 
love.  I suffer  pain  all  the  time.  No  one  knows  how 
much.” 

44  Oh,  Aunt  Anne ! ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  225 


u Yes.  Now  I am  not  afraid  to  die.  I am  not  even 
afraid  of  this  pain,  which  goes  on  from  bad  to  worse. 
If  some  angel  came  and  said,  You  are  free  to  die 
to-morrow/  I would  say  ‘No.’  Life  is  my  little  bear- 
cub,  and  it  is  n’t  like  your  cub.  I should  be  afraid 
to  be  such  a coward  as,  for  fear  of  pain,  to  want  to 
let  go  my  cub ; and  that  is  because  God  has  put  me 
here  to  bear  what  ills  come  to  me,  and  to  use  them 
so  as  to  get  something  out  of  life — to  learn  endur- 
ance and  true  courage.  Perhaps  some  one  else  may 
get  something  out  of  it.  I do  not  want  to  talk  over 
your  head,  Jack.  Do  you  understand  me  ? ” 

u I think  so,”  and  tears  began  to  fall  on  her  hand. 
“ I am — I am  so  sorry  for  you.” 

“ That  is  well, — although  I am  foolish  as  to  pity, 
and  like  best  to  keep  my  troubles  to  myself.  But  if 
to  know  all  this  helps  you  to  do  right,  to  know  what 
the  courage  which  comes  from  God  means,  I shall 
not  have  suffered  in  vain.” 

“ Thank  you  ! ” He  began  to  comprehend  her  cour- 
ageous reticence,  and  was  appalled  at  this  insight  into 
the  anguish  and  struggle  of  this  calm,  self-contained 
life,  which  went  laughing  on  its  way  to  death. 

“ Kiss  me,”  she  said,  “ and  mind  this  is  between  us 
two.  I try  usually  not  to  pain  others  with  my  pain. 
Except  to  help  you,  I would  not  have  made  you  suf- 
fer for  my  suffering.  No  one  knows  why  there  is  so 
much  torment  in  the  wide  world  of  man  and  beast, 
but  some  of  it  is  clear  enough.  I have  made  your 
young  heart  ache  to-night;  but  this  suffering  has  a 
meaning,  and  ought  to  have  a use.” 

“ Thank  you,  dear  Aunt  Anne  ! ” 

15 


226  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GREEN 

“ Don’t  cry  any  more,”  she  said.  UI  shall  love 
you  better  than  ever  because  we  have  trusted  each 
other.  Now  I think  you  know  what  to  do.  Don’t 
wait,”  and  she  laughed  pleasantly ) “ procrastination 
is  the  thief  — of  what,  Jacky?” 

u Oh,  of  time.”  And  he  laughed. 

“ No,  no,  stupid  ! — of  all  the  virtues.  Your  father 
is  in  the  room.  Kiss  me.” 

The  boy  rose  up  and  went  straight  into  the  cabin. 
With  his  head  in  air,  and  a little  flushed,  he  walked 
up  to  his  father,  and  stood  as  the  latter  looked  up 
from  his  book. 

“ I am  sorry,  sir,  for  what  I did  yesterday.  I was 
wrong.” 

Lyndsay  put  out  his  hand,  and  the  mother  also 
looked  up  from  her  book. 

“ That  will  do,”  he  said.  11 1 thought  you  would 
come  right.  Go  and  kiss  Rose.” 

He  did  so,  whispering  in  her  ear,  “I  am  awful 
sorry,  Rose.”  Then,  in  the  brief  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, he  walked  out  again,  and  went  back  to  Anne. 

“ It  was  n’t  hard  ? ” she  said. 

“ Yes,  it  was ! I hated  it,  but  I did  it.” 

“ Now,  that  was  honest  courage,  Jack.  You  will 
feel  better  for  it  to-morrow.  Good  night ; I must  go 
to  bed  myself.” 

Jack  went  in  with  her,  and  by  the  way  in  which  he 
was  bidden  good  night,  saw  that  the  bear  business 
was  over.  Before  he  fell  asleep,  he  heard  Rose  ask : 

“ May  I come  in  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  he  shouted.  She  came  to  the  bedside  and 
kissed  him. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  227 


“I  wanted  to  say,  Jack,  that  I thought  you  were 
very  brave  to-night.  I would  have  done  it,  but  I 
would  have  waited  until  dear  old  Marc.  Aurelius  was 
alone.  Oh,  I am  proud  of  you.  You  are  to  have  your 
rifle  to-morrow.” 

“ You  asked  for  it  ? ” 

“I  did.” 

“ By  Thor,  but  you  ’re  — ” 

This  was  a family  oath. 

“ Hush,  no  swearing.” 

“Oh,  by  Jove!” 

“ These  are  not  the  Olympic  games.” 

“Plague  it,  Aunt  Anne  says  that  is  n’t  swearing. 
She  says — ” 

“You  and  Aunt  Anne  had  better  be  careful  how 
you  explain  away  the  commandments.  Good  night.” 
A poet  has  said  that  Time  is  a mighty  peacemaker, 
and  it  is  quite  certain  that  he  patches  up  even  our 
quarrels  with  ourselves.  This  Rose  found  to  be  the 
case.  The  lapse  of  a day  left  her  less  self-annoyance. 
That  certain  precedent  facts  about  her  bowman  cast  a 
humorous  aspect  about  the  new  acquaintance  began 
to  be  felt  rather  as  a relieving  aid  to  future  social 
intercourse  than  as  an  added  embarrassment. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


HE  next  day  went  by  before  Rose 
was  believed  to  be  well  enough  to 
cast  a fly.  Mr.  Ellett  dropped  down 
to  ask  how  Miss  Lyndsay  was,  and  to 
leave  a note  from  Carington,  with  a 
half-dozen  of  the  famous  Millers. 
Aunt  Anne  smiled  a little  as  she  caught  Mr.  Ellett 
on  his  way  to  the  house,  no  one  else  but  she  being 
at  home.  She  made  herself  very  amusing,  and,  as 
Ellett  was  enthusiastic  about  Carington,  she  bagged, 
as  she  said,  all  there  was  to  be  known  of  both  young 
men. 

“You  see,  Miss  Lyndsay,  I am  unlucky  enough  to 
have  more  money  and  more  time  than  Carington  says 
is  good  for  me.  But  everybody  has  the  same  time  as 
everybody  else.  That  ’s  so,  is  n’t  it  ? I saw  it  in  — I 
think  I saw  it  in  Smith’s  ( Wealth  of  Nations.’  Ever 
read  it,  Miss  Lyndsay  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Anne,  charmed  with  her  capture. 
u I don’t  have  much  time  now.  I go  in  for  manag- 
ing hospitals  and  things.  You  see,  Fred  says  a man 
who  can  run  a club  can  manage  a hospital.  Good 
notion,  that.  He  says  men  are  better  housekeepers 
than  women.” 

“ What  heresy ! ” 


228 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  229 


“ Is  n’t  it?  Nowadays  Fred  has  more  money  than 
I have.  You  see,  he  builds  bridges  and  things.” 
“Then  you  and  your  friend  Mr.  Carington  have 
little  in  common,  from  your  account.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  we  have ; we  like  each  other.” 

“That  ’s  neatly  and  nicely  said;  but  don’t  you 
think  that,  on  the  whole,  in  people  who  are  intellec- 
tually sympathetic,  unlikeness  of  tastes  and  pursuits 
may  be  as  good  a foundation  for  friendship  as  a 
common  fondness  for  this  or  that  ? ” 

“Y-e-s,”  said  the  small  gentleman,  somewhat  per- 
plexed. He  was  slow  of  apprehension,  but  in  the 
end  likely  enough  to  become  clear  as  to  what  he 
should  think  of  things  said.  Miss  Anne,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  a rapid  talker  and  thinker,  and 
sometimes  overestimated  the  capacity  of  people  to 
follow  her. 

“We  were  speaking  of  this  last  week.  I said  then 
that  as  little  reason  goes  into  the  making  of  most 
friendships  as  into  most  love-affairs,  or,  for  that  mat- 
ter, into  most  of  the  religious  attachments  which  men 
call  their  beliefs.  Friendship  ought  to  be  a tranquil 
love-affair  of  the  head,  without  base  question  of  dot,” 
and  she  laughed. 

“ But  I like  a fellow  first,  and  then  find  reasons  for 
it  afterward.” 

“ I said  it  was  a love-affair  of  the  head.  I have  a 
small  heart  somewhere  in  my  head ; I know  that. 
Some  folks  have  two  heads,  and  call  one  a heart.” 
“ I don’t  think  I quite  follow  you,  Miss  Lyndsay,” 
said  Ellett. 

“ Oh,  there ’s  no  need  to.” 

15* 


230 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ But  it  ’s  dreadful  to  get  left  the  way  I do,  at  the 
first  hurdle.  I was  going  to  tell  you  what  Fred  said 
to  me  once ; it  was  n’t  bad  at  all.  He  said  once  that 
ours  was  a friendship  of  convenance  at  first,  and  then, 
afterward — Well,  the  fact  was,  I happened  to  hear 
that  he  needed  money,  and  I used  to  admire  him,  but 
I never  did  think  he  would  care  for  a fellow  like  me, 
that  shot  pigeons,  and  rode  steeplechase,  and — killed 
things.” 

“And  you  helped  him  ? ” 

“ Good  heavens,  Miss  Lyndsay ! I never  meant  to 
— to  say  anything  about  that.  I — ” 

“You  need  not  apologize,”  she  said,  smiling.  “I 
am  getting  to  be  a pretty  old  maid,  and  that  gives  me 
privileges.  I think  I like  Mr.  Carington’s  friend  ” ; 
and  she  said  to  herself,  “You  are  a dear,  shrewdly 
simple  little  man.” 

Then  he  thanked  her,  blushing  as  he  rose,  and 
saying : 

“ Now,  I must  go  and  get  a fish.” 

As  for  Rose,  she  began  to  feel  that  it  was  rather 
nice  of  Mr.  Carington  to  be  in  no  haste  to  come  after 
the  inevitable  gratitude;  but  when  a pleasant  note 
came  to  Mrs.  Lyndsay  inclosing  the  flies,  she  began 
also  to  have  a certain  amount  of  curiosity  as  to  the 
man  in  question,  much,  I suppose,  like  the  beginning 
of  that  same  fatal  emotion  which  in  the  end  causes 
the  salmon  to  inspect  at  closer  quarters  the  provo- 
cative Jock  Scott  or  Durham  ranger. 

It  was  now  near  the  end  of  their  second  week,  and 
the  after  part  of  the  third  day  from  that  which  saw 
the  drama  of  the  bear  and  cub.  Rose  had  killed  two 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  231 


salmon  in  the  morning,  and,  not  having  altogether 
gotten  over  the  loss  of  blood,  had  declined  to  fish 
again  in  the  afternoon.  Anne  was  in  her  room,  the 
mother  out  in  the  boat  with  Mr.  Lyndsay,  and  the 
boys  off  to  dig  up  the  unhappy  woodchuck.  Rose 
had  the  pleasant  feeling  of  having  the  house  to  her- 
self. She  took  a volume  of  Lowell,  and,  settling 
herself  in  the  hammock,  was  soon  so  deep  in  the 
delicate  analysis  of  Gray  that  she  did  not  observe 
the  coming  canoe,  until  of  a sudden  Carington  was 
beside  her. 

“ Good  evening,  Miss  Lyndsay.” 

Rose  made  the  usual  awkward  effort  to  rise  from 
her  comfortable  nest,  saying,  “ I am  like  the  starling, 
I can’t  get  out.” 

“ Permit  me,”  he  said,  and,  with  the  help  of  his 
hand,  she  was  on  her  feet. 

“Upon  my  word,”  she  laughed,  “you  seem  to  be 
essential  to  the  getting  me  out  of  scrapes.  I am,  I 
was,  always  shall  be  hopelessly  in  your  debt,”  and 
she  blushed  prettily,  feeling  that  she  had  been  less 
formal  than  she  had  meant  to  be.  “ Pray  sit  down,” 
she  added,  taking  a camp-stool. 

“Thanks.  Don’t  you  think  that  to  give  a man 
such  a chance  to  oblige  people  like  — like  your  father 
and  mother  — rather  puts  the  sense  of  obligation  on 
the  other  side  ? ” 

“Aunt  Anne  says  that  it  is  written  large  on  some 
debts,  ‘Not  transferable.’  You  have  put  it  very 
nicely,  and  still  you  must  let  me  say  once  for  all,  I 
thank  you.” 

“And  I am  forgiven  for  my  boy  frolic  ? ” 


232  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“I  don’t  know/’  she  cried,  smiling.  “That  is  not 
nominated  in  the  bond.” 

“Well,  we  will  consider  the  other  obligations  set- 
tled,” he  said,  “ and  leave  this  for  future  adjustment. 
You  will  give  me  what  the  men  call  a good  L recom- 
mend’ for  a new  place  as  bowman?  I am  rather 
vain  of  my  poling.  How  wet  you  were ! ” 

“Wet!  You  have  no  idea.  It  established  new 
standards  of  moisture  for  me.  But  we  got  the  fish.” 

He  liked  the  pronoun  of  partnership. 

“ Yes.  I wonder  if  Mr.  Lyndsay  would  let  you  fish 
our  water.  I could  promise  you  a salmon  or  two. 
Ellett  would  like  to  exchange  to-morrow  afternoon, 
and  try  your  lower  pool,  so  that,  if  Mr.  Lyndsay 
would  take  the  lower  half  of  our  fishing  and  we  the 
upper,  we  should  be  agreeably  matronized  — patron- 
ized I should  say.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  give 
your  father  this  note?” 

Rose  said  yes,  and  he  took  up  the  book  she  had 
dropped  into  the  hammock. 

“Lowell!  I like  his  essays  more  than  his  verse, 
except  always  the  immortal  fun  of  the  Biglow  Papers. 
That  must  surely  live.  For  most  of  his  poetry  I care 
little.” 

“Yes,  it  is  graceful,  interesting  at  times,  which  is 
not  true  of  some  much  greater  verse ; but  I do  not 
care  for  it  much, — and  that  is  dreadful,  because  we 
all  know  him  well  and  love  him  well.” 

“ Indeed  ! How  pleasant  that  must  be  ! Long  as 
I have  lived  near  him,  I have  never  seen  him.” 

“We  shall  quarrel  here  and  now  if  you  do  not  at 
once  praise  the  Biglow  Papers.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


233 


“ Oh  ! but  I could  not  say  too  much  of  them.  Af- 
ter their  kind  they  stand  alone.” 

“ Thank  you ! And  how  rare  it  is  that  the  poets 
combine  humor  with  the  higher  qualities ! It  is  sadly 
true  of  our  day.” 

“ Yes,  yes!  It  is  laughable  to  hear  people  talk  of 
Browning’s  humor.  At  times  he  is  grotesque  or  sar- 
donic— never  delicately  humorous  or  funny.  We 
want  a word  in  between  fun  and  humor.  And  Ten- 
nyson is  not  humorous.  It  all  seems  a part  of  the 
gloom  which  has  fallen  on  English  letters.” 

“ Oh,  there  is  c Plump  head-waiter  at  the  Cock ’ ! ” 
“ That  is  the  exception,  and  is  not  very  notable,  like 
Lowell’s  sustained  and  delightful  verbal  play  ; the  rest 
are  no  better  or  worse  off  — the  lesser  larks,  I mean.” 
“Yes,  and  Shelley  has  no  humor,  and  Keats’s  at- 
tempts are  only  illustrations  of  the  fact  that  editors 
don’t  know  where  to  draw  the  line.” 

“ How  agreeable  we  are ! ” he  said,  laughing.  He 
had  the  happy  art  of  low-pitched  laughter. 

“ That  way  of  saying  we  agree,”  she  said,  “ would 
delight  Aunt  Anne.” 

“And  do  you  find  time  up  here  to  read  much?” 
he  went  on.  “ I cannot.  The  hours  go  by  like  the 
water,  without  freight  of  thought.” 

“Not  much,”  she  returned.  “I  read  very  little  here, 
although  at  home  we  are  mighty  consumers  of  books. 
I am  as  little  fond  of  the  needle  as  is  my  aunt,  but 
one  takes  up  a book  lazily  here  as  a sort  of  companion 
that  does  not  insist  on  answers.” 

“You  seem  to  have  provided  a goodly  ration,”  he 
returned,  looking  about  him. 


234  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“I  am  hardly  responsible  for  this  mob  of  books. 
My  good  mother  is  in  despair  over  our  accumulations, 
and  my  father  declares  that  the  house  at  home  is  a 
Noah’s  ark  of  books  after  their  kind.” 

“And  what  kind?”  said  Carington,  much  pleased 
to  get  off  so  easily  from  what  he  had  feared  might  be 
an  importunate  debtor. 

“Oh,  every  kind!  Of  course,  my  good  father’s 
legal  books  now  and  then  drift  away  from  their 
proper  place.  Then  Jack  collects  voyages  and  fero- 
cities by  land  and  sea,  and  Dick  will  spend  his  last 
dime  on  books  about  beasts  and  plants.  My  dear 
Ned  reads  everybody’s  books  with  entire  impartiality. 
Aunt  Anne  must  have  digested  libraries;  but  then 
she  is  not  like  anybody  else.  I hardly  call  it  reading. 
She  falls  upon  a book,  and  appears  to  look  it  over 
carelessly,  and  then,  after  you  have  read  it  with  atten- 
tion, you  find  that  she  knows  twice  as  much  about  it 
as  you  do.” 

“ But  that  is  very  interesting.  I judged  from  our 
little  chat  at  breakfast  that  Miss  Anne  was  out  of  the 
ranks  of  our  commonplace  world.  And  she  reads 
widely  ? ” 

“Yes!  We  call  her  the  1 book-hawk.’  It  is  rare 
fun  to  see  her  pounce  on  a tempting  volume.” 

“ She  struck  me,  if  I may  venture  to  say  so,  as  most 
interesting;  but  that  there  should  remain  this  im- 
mense, ever  active  energy  of  appropriation  with 
feeble  health  seems  remarkable.” 

A little  surprised,  Rose  asked,  “ Why  do  you  think 
her  ill?” 

“ She  told  me  so, — or  hardly  that : she  was  merely 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  235 


led  to  say  she  was  not  strong,  and  a glance  at  that 
pale  drawn  face,  Miss  Lyndsay,  would  — pardon  me 

— I — ” 

“No.  Perhaps  I should  explain  my  surprise.  It 
was  because  to  hear  of  Aunt  Anne  as  confessing 
weakness  was  to  me  more  strange  than  you  can  ima- 
gine, unless  you  knew  her  as  we  do.” 

“ I liked  it,”  said  Carington. 

“Yes.  It  means  that  she — well  — it  means  that 
she  is  going  to  like  you  — a signal.” 

“ Thank  you ; that  is  very  pleasant.  But,  talking 
of  books  again,  you  left  off  just  where  I hoped  you 
were  going  to  tell  me  what  books  after  your  kind  go 
into  the  family  ark.” 

“I  was  going  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort,”  cried 
Rose,  with  a laugh.  “You  will  think  we  are  a dull 
set  of  mere  book-grubbers.  I can  assure  you  we  are 
very  foolish  people,  and  can  be  as  silly  as  the  silliest.” 

“You  shall  have  credit  for  any  possible  margin  of 
folly.” 

“Oh,  there  must  be  a limit.  I did  not  want  to 
leave  you  to  think  we  are  what  Aunt  Anne  calls  book 
proud.” 

“ Book  proud  ? ” 

“ Yes.  You  must  have  known  people  who  seem  at 
some  time  to  have  suddenly  discovered  books,  the  real 
books,  and  are  vastly  set  up  by  their  new- found  wealth.” 

“I  know.  I was  stupid.  My  friend  Ellett  came 
pretty  near  to  having  a grave  case  of  the  malady 
soon  after  I first  knew  him,  but  he  was  cured  easily 
with  the  tenth  dilution  of  a sarcasm.” 

“ Were  you  the  doctor  ? ” 


236 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ I was.  I hope  you  liked  him,  Miss  Lyndsay.  I 
like  my  friend  to  be  liked  by — by  every  one.” 

“ You  meant  to  say,  by  your  friends,”  she  returned, 
with  pretty  frankness.  “ You  have  committed  the 
folly  of  making  a large  addition  to  your  list.” 

“ And  I may  include  Miss  Rose  Lyndsay  ? ” he  said, 
as  he  stood  up. 

“ That  goes  without  saying.” 

“ But  I want  it  with  the  saying.” 

“ Then  you  have  it,”  and  she  gave  her  hand  for  good- 
by,  and  he  went  away.  At  the  cliff  edge  he  paused. 

“ I shall  be  dreadfully  disappointed  if  we  do  not 
get  the  fishing.” 

“ But  I think  we  shall.” 

“Then  good-by  again.”  In  a moment  he  was  in 
his  canoe,  for  he  had  come  alone,  and  was  sturdily 
poling  up  the  stream.  The  well-knit  figure  in  the 
becoming  guise  of  jacket  and  knickerbockers  held 
her  eye  until  it  was  lost  around  the  river  curves. 
Then  she  said  aloud  : 

“ That  is  a very  nice  man.” 

The  man  in  the  canoe  said  to  himself : 

“ Please  God  I shall  marry  that  woman.” 

An  hour  ago  she  was  Miss  Lyndsay  and  as  other 
women  had  been  to  him.  But  now  — he  smiled. 

When  Miss  Lyndsay  had  made  her  own  little  state- 
ment, she  looked  about  her  shyly  of  a sudden,  as  if 
fearful  lest  some  one  might  have  overheard  her,  and, 
reassured  by  the  knowledge  that  she  was  alone, 
added : 

“ I am  not  as  sorry  as  I was.”  The  why  of  this  last 
decision  she  did  not  seek  to  analyze,  but  dropped 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  237 


into  the  hammock,  and,  lulled  by  its  motion,  by  and 
by  fell  asleep. 

After  awhile  came  Lyndsay  on  tip-toe,  and,  smiling, 
kissed  her,  and  then  again  before  she  quite  waked  up. 

“ A pair  — two  pair  — of  gloves/7  he  cried. 

At  this  she  sat  up,  with  a faint  blush  on  her 
cheek,  fetched  from  far  away  out  of  dreamland.  I 
do  not  know  of  what  she  was  dreaming. 

“ You  startled  me  so,  Pardy.  How  wicked  you  are ! 
Mr.  Oarington  has  been  here,  and  left  a note  for  you.77 

“And  you  settled  your  small  obligations  — hey, 
Rose?77 
“I  did.77 

“ Difficult  ? 77  He  had  anticipated  her  embarrassments. 

“ No.  Not  even  you  could  have  been  nicer  about  it.77 

“ And  you  liked  him  ? We  did.77 

“Yes  — oh,  yes/7  she  said  with  indifference.  “I 
thought  him  pleasant.  He  talks  quite  well,  and  is  a 
gentleman.77 

“ Rather  mild  praise  for  a man  who  — 77 

“Don7t,  please,  Pardy;  I — I hate  to  be  joked 
about  it.77 

“ I won7t,  dear.  To  say,  in  these  days  of  too  easy 
fashions,  that  a man  is  a gentleman  means,  for  us  at 
least,  a good  deal.77 

“I  think  so.  Of  course,  I had  to  say  distinctly 
that  I thanked  him,  and  he  received  it  so  — so  quietly 
and  simply  that  I was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed. 
I can7t  tell  you,  Pardy,  how  absurdly  I dreaded  it.77 

Thereupon  Mr.  Lyndsay  went  in,  saying  to  himself: 

“ I hope  the  receiver  is  n7t  going  to  be  the  thief  — 
confound  the  business ! 77 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


HE  next  day,  being  Saturday,  a 
little  note  sent  in  the  morning  told 
Carington  that  Miss  Lyndsay  and 
her  father  would  fish  his  waters 
in  the  afternoon.  Her  father  took 
Rose  up  in  his  own  canoe,  and  at 
the  Island  Camp  they  found  their  new  friends.  Mr. 
Ellett  went  off  to  take  their  pool,  and  Rose  was  soon 
seated  in  Carington’s  canoe,  facing  the  stern  of  the 
boat. 

“ No,”  he  said  gaily,  “ I shall  sit  between  you  and 
Michelle,  here  in  the  bottom.  I shall  be  very  com- 
fortable, and  I shall  be  able  to  criticize  your  casts. 
No,  I don’t  mean  to  fish.  It  is  your  day  — all  yours. 
We  shall  beat  you,  Mr.  Lyndsay.  Mind,  Michelle,  we 
are  bent  on  wholesale  business.” 

Then  they  were  off,  and  in  a half-hour  were  at  the 
head  of  the  pool,  a full  cast  from  the  bank,  and  in  a 
wilful  rush  of  broken  water.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Lynd- 
say dropped  down  half  a mile  below  them. 

“ I am  afraid  you  must  cast  seated,”  said  Carington. 
“ The  boat  rocks  too  much  for  it  to  be  safe  to  stand.” 
“ That  makes  it  harder.” 

“ Yes ; but  you  won’t  mind  my  coaching  you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no ! ” 


238 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  239 


“ Then,  use  your  arms  and  wrist  in  the  east.  Don't 
try  to  put  too  much  force  in  it.  There,  that  is  bet- 
ter — so." 

She  went  on  casting,  a little  troubled  by  the  critical 
watchfulness  of  the  curly  head  below  her,  for  Caring- 
ton  had  thrown  his  cap  at  his  feet  and  sat  bare- 
headed. At  last,  in  the  second  drop,  a fish  rose. 

“ Did  n't  you  see  him  ? " 

“No." 

“He  rose.  Wait  a little.  He  lies  on  a line  with 
that  cedar.  Now,  again.  They  are  in  rising  mood 
to-day.  I rose  six  here  this  morning,  and  then  left 
the  pool,  so  as  not  to  exhaust  their  curiosity." 

“ That  was  to  leave  me  the  chance,"  thought  Rose. 

“There,  Miss  Lyndsay;  he  was  pretty  eager  that 
time. 

“A  rise  to  a Rose  seems  grammatically  improbable," 
he  murmured,  laughing  outright  at  his  own  nonsense, 
and  happy  enough  to  be  easily  silly. 

“ What  amuses  you  ? " she  said. 

“ Oh,  nothing." 

“ Then  you  are  very  readily  amused." 

“I  am  to-day.  Up  anchor.  He  has  it.  Tip  up! 
So ! A grilse." 

“ Oh  ! how  he  jumps,"  she  cried,  for  he  was  in  and 
out  of  the  water  a dozen  times. 

“ That  is  the  fashion  of  his  kind,  young  and  foolish. 
Hold  him  hard,  and  reel  him  in.  He  is  too  small  to 
trifle  with.  Well  done ; four  minutes,  or  less." 

“ That  horrid  gaff ! " said  Rose. 

“Wait  a moment.  I thought  you  might  not  like 
it.  I have  my  big  net,"  and  so  in  a moment  the 


240 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


pretty  five-pounder  was  in  the  boat,  and  had  his  coup 
de  grdce. 

The  next  half-hour  Rose  fished  hard,  but  in  vain, 
and  began  to  be  weary.  Then,  at  last,  there  was  a 
huge  splash  at  the  utmost  limit  of  her  casting  dis- 
tance. 

“ Two  fish  was  after  that  fly,”  said  Michelle.  “ Guess 
they  run  against  each  other.” 

“ Let  out  a little  line,”  said  Carington. 

“ But  I can’t  cast  that  far.  Won’t  you,  please?” 

“ Certainly.”  And,  standing,  he  threw  off  two  or 
three  feet  of  line.  The  leader  and  fly  dropped  far 
away,  straight  from  the  rod.  At  last,  after  many 
casts,  he  put  on  a fly  well  known  to  anglers  as  a 
“ fairy.”  The  fish  rose,  missed  it,  and  then,  follow- 
ing the  retreating  line,  struck  savagely. 

“Up  anchor!”  cried  Carington,  as  he  sat  down, 
giving  the  rod  to  Rose. 

“ Big  one  that,  sir,”  said  Michelle ; and,  as  he  spoke, 
the  salmon  darted  down-stream,  the  men  in  wild  ex- 
citement, and  the  canoe  swiftly  urged  in  his  track. 

“ The  salmon  seem  fond  of  going  to  sea,  Michelle. 
It  is  very  rare,  Miss  Lyndsay.” 

“ Oh,  he  will  have  all  my  line  ! What  can  I do  ? ” 

“ Tip  up  ! up  ! He  must  run,  and  he  will.”  And 
away  they  flew. 

“ Quick,  Michelle ! I have  twice  seen  a salmon  run 
off  a reel.”  And  now,  in  fact,  there  was  very  little 
line  left,  when,  after  nearly  half  a mile  of  rush  down- 
stream, the  fish  turned  and  ran  toward  the  boat. 

“ Lost?  No  ! Nothing  is  ever  lost  — reel ! reel ! — 
except  by  people  who  ought  to  lose.  No,  reel ! reel ! ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  241 


And  poor  Rose,  at  the  limit  of  exhaustion,  obeyed  till 
her  arm  ached,  and  the  perilously  long  loop  of  line  at 
last  became  tense,  and  the  fish  showed  himself  in  one 
great  leap  not  forty  feet  away. 

“ He  7s  beat ! 77  cried  Michelle.  “ Easy,  miss,  easy. 
Have  to  gaff  him,  sir.77 

“ All  right.  What  7s  the  matter  with  him  ? 77 

“ Hooked  foul,  sir.  Ah  ! 77  And,  amidst  splash  and 
laughter,  and  much  water  over  Rose,  the  prey  was  hers. 

“ What  does  he  weigh  ? 77 

Carington  took  the  spring-scale.  “How  is  it, 
Michelle  ? 77 

“ Thirty-eight  pounds,  miss,  and  a beauty.  A half- 
hour  we  was,  I guess.77 

“ I congratulate  you.  Are  you  tired  ? 77 

“ Tired  ? No,  I am  exhausted.  I really  don7t  think 
I can  fish  any  more.  Won7t  you  ? 77 

“Suppose  we  pole  up  a mile  or  so,  to  the  upper 
pool.  1 711  cast  a little,  and  then  we  can  drop  down 
and  meet  Mr.  Lyndsay.77 

“ Certainly.  I,  at  least,  am  satisfied.77 

“Up-stream,  Michelle.77  And  the  poles  were  out, 
and  they  went  away  slowly  up  the  watery  slope. 

“Do  you  mind  talking  at  the  back  of  a man’s 
head?77  said  Carington.  “I  might  have  shifted  the 
chair,  and  my  own  position  — I will,  if  you  like.77 

“No;  it  has  its  advantages,77  and  she  laughed,  re- 
membering another  occasion. 

“ Such  as  — 77 

“ I leave  that  to  your  imagination.77 

“ I have  none.77 

“ Then  to  your  reason.77 

16 


242  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Gone ! Retired  from  business.” 

“ I found  it  advantageous  — once.” 

“ You  mean  when  I was  bowman.  I thought  I was 
to  be  forgiven.” 

u I distinctly  said  you  were  not,  and  that  I should 
reserve  the  matter  for  future  consideration.” 

“ But  the  advantage  was  all  on  my  side.” 
u Thank  you.  I suppose  because  you  could  not  see 
my  face.” 

“ That  is  simply  a diabolical  explanation.  I hope 
you  may  lose  your  next  fish.” 

“ Don’t.  I can  bear  any  form  of  malice  but  that.  I 
have  gone  salmon-mad,  like  the  rest  of  you.” 

“ I retract,”  he  said.  “ Is  n’t  this  hunting  and  fish- 
ing instinct  curious?  I suppose  it  got  ingrained 
ages  ago,  in  the  days  when  our  forebears  were  getting 
their  daily  diet  by  the  use  of  the  club  and  spear.  If 
you  could  shoot,  would  you  like  that  ? ” 

He  did  not  want  her  to  say  yes,  and  she  did  say, 
“ No ; I set  my  sporting  limits  at  the  salmon.” 

“ That  is  to  say,  pretty  well  up  the  scale.  I confess 
that  for  me  salmon-fishing  is  the  noblest  of  the  sports.” 
u Why  is  it  ? For  myself,  I like  it ; I hardly  know 
why.  But  I want  to  hear  why  you  speak  of  it  so 
warmly.  You  shoot,  of  course?” 

“ Yes.  All  manner  of  things,  when  I get  the  time. 
As  to  this  fishing,  I don’t  think  I spoke  at  random. 
It  requires  some  skill, — not  too  much,  or  too  intense 
attention.  One  is  free  to  mix  it  with  a book,  or  with 
deep  thinkings,  or  with  the  laziest  mind-idleness. 
Then,  too,  one’s  curiosity  is  kept  up  by  the  unguess- 
able  riddles  of  the  ways  of  salmon.  We  know  no 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  243 


more  about  salmon  than  we  know  about  — well,  I 
leave  you  to  fill  the  gap.” 

“It  is  easy  to  guess,”  she  cried,  “what  the  other 
term  of  all  difficult  comparisons  is  for  men.” 

“Woman,  I humbly  presume  you  to  mean.  In- 
deed, I at  least  might  be  excused  if  I so  said.  I have 
no  sister,  no  cousins,  indeed ; no  mother  — now,”  and 
he  paused.  “ I am  in  truth  alone  in  the  world  since 
after  the  war,  when  I wandered  north,  a pretty  sorry 
sort  of  a half-educated  orphan.” 

“And  what  did  you  do  then  ? ” She  felt  agreeably 
the  courteous  deference  of  the  young  man’s  manner, 
and  liked  the  brief  emotion  of  his  pause  as  he  spoke 
of  his  mother,  nor  less  the  soft  Southern  accent. 

“ Oh,  I got  work  on  a railroad  as  a chain-bearer, 
and  worked  up  until  I made  a little  invention,  which 
I sold,  and  with  the  money  I went  to  the  Troy  scien- 
tific school.  It  was  pretty  tough,  because  I had  to 
do  double  work  on  account  of  my  want  of  early 
training.  However,  I got  through.” 

“And  then  ? ” 

“ Oh,  then  I was  employed  as  an  engineer,  and,  by 
and  by,  the  firm  I am  now  in  took  up  some  of  my 
new  notions  about  bridge-building.  I ought  to  ask 
pardon  for  talking  about  myself.  I really  think  it 
was  your  fault.” 

“ I am  not  over-penitent.  I think,  with  my  father, 
that  the  lives  of  men  who  succeed  are  interesting.” 
“Have  I succeeded?  I suppose  that  fellow  Ellett 
has  been  indulging  you  all  with  my  virtues  and  ca- 
pacities.” 

“ Perhaps ! ” And  now  a look  at  the  face  would 


244  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

have  been  desirable.  He  said  no  more  for  a moment. 
Then  Miss  Lyndsay  went  on : 

“ You  were  about  to  say — ” 

“No,  I was  not.  Yes,  I was.  I was  about  to  say 
that  success  in  life  means  many  things.  Material 
success  I have  had.  There  are  other  successes.  I 
have  by  no  means  all  I want.” 

“And  what  else  do  you  want?  Immaterial  suc- 
cess? I hardly  know  what  that  is;  but  one  can’t 
be  consistently  wise.” 

He  laughed.  “ Oh,  I am  a fellow  full  of  wants.” 

“ Do  you  get  what  you  want,  as  a rule  ? I some- 
times envy  men  the  battles  of  their  lives.” 

“Yes,  mostly  I get  what  I want.  When  I want 
things,  I so  terribly  want  them  that  not  to  win 
is  — is  unpleasant.” 

“ Oh  ! ” she  cried,  “ did  you  see  that  salmon  jump? 
I should  like  to  be  a salmon,  just  an  hour,  to  know 
why  they  want  the  fly.  They  don’t  want  it  to  eat, 
do  they?” 

“No.  But  also  we  ourselves  want  many  things 
which  we  can’t  eat.” 

She  laughed  outright,  which  is  at  times  provoking 
when  the  face  is  invisible. 

“ It  is  my  turn  now,”  he  said.  “ What  amuses  you  ? ” 

“ Nothing ! ” This  was  hardly  true.  She  was  mirth- 
fully overcome  at  the  idea  of  Carington  as  a salmon, 
and  somebody  casting  a fly  over  that  curly  head. 
“Oh,  nothing.” 

“ I know  better,”  he  said. 

“ Indeed  ? What  kind  of  a fly  would  you  advise  as 
a lure  to  a human  salmon  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


245 


“ That  is  a pretty  serious  question.  It  is  to  be  a 
male  salmon,  I presume.  What  would  I rise  to? 
Money,  good  looks,  character,  position.” 

“I  might  suggest  a killing  combination  fly,”  she 
returned. 

“ That  reminds  me  pleasantly  of  my  old  guide,  Tom 
Dunham,  who  used  to  go  with  me  on  Lake  Superior. 
He  was  an  old  beaver-trapper.  Once  I asked  him 
how  he  baited  his  traps.  He  said,  ‘Women  beavers 
is  easy  satisfied  with  one  thing  for  a bait,  but  men 
beavers  is  best  took  with  two  or  three  kinds,  all  just 
sot  to  one,  in  a bait.’” 

“ I don’t  see  the  moral.” 

“ Oh,  that  is  a matter  of  choice.  The  beaver,  once 
in  the  trap,  has  leisure  to  select  the  moral.” 

“ Rather.  How  interesting  these  guides  must  be  ! 
The  lonely  life  in  the  woods  must  result  in  the  mak- 
ing of  some  singular  characters.  Or  do  they  all 
become  dull  and  taciturn?” 

“ Some  do.  Tom  was  a most  amusing  person.  I 
remember  we  were  lying  one  night  at  the  Pictured 
Rocks,  on  the  south  shore.  I can  see  now  the  dim 
line  of  cliffs,  and  the  camp-fire,  and  the  loons  on  the 
lake,  taken  by  the  broad  red  band  of  ruddy  light 
flashing  far  over  the  waters.  Tom  was  talking  bea- 
ver. At  last  I told  him  a beaver  story  out  of  one  of 
Buckland’s  books.  It  does  n’t  bore  you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no.  I love  stories.” 

“Well,  once  on  a time,  when  folks  wore  beaver 
hats,  an  ancient  beaver  sat  on  a dam,  and  discoursed 
wisdom  to  a young  beaver.  Presently  came  floating 

down-stream  a beaver  hat.  1 What  is  that  ? ’ cried  the 
16* 


246 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


young  beaver.  Then  the  old  beaver  wiped  his  eyes 
with  his  long,  hairy  tail,  and  said,  ‘My  son,  that  is 
our  grandfather ! ’ ” 

“ Delightful ! Do  tell  the  boys  that.” 

“Tom  considered  this  incident  in  silence  until  at 
last  I said,  ‘Tom,  I don’t  suppose  you  believe  that 
story  ? ’ ‘ Well,  now/  says  Tom,  ‘ that  just  shows  you 
don’t  know  nothin’  about  beavers.  In  course  he 
knowed  his  own  granddaddy.’ ” 

“ That  is  really  charming.” 

“ Oh,  here  is  the  pool.”  Their  places  were  now 
shifted,  Carington  casting  over  Miss  Lyndsay.  For 
an  hour  he  fished  in  a distracted  way,  to  Michelle’s 
disgust,  for  the  fisherman  sat  for  the  most  part,  and 
paid  less  attention  to  the  fly  than  to  the  back  of  Miss 
Lyndsay’s  neck,  and  a pair  of  delicately  modeled 
ears,  and  the  most  distracting  lot  of  hair,  which  had 
been  disturbed  in  her  casting,  and  in  and  out  of 
which  two  hands  were  busy  with  mysteriously  guided 
efforts  at  readjustment.  Also,  he  wondered  how 
much  of  a woman’s  nature  one  could  learn  from 
these  limited  opportunities. 

After  a good  deal  of  talk,  with  some  dangerous  in- 
tervals of  silence,  he  gave  up  fishing,  saying,  “ It  is 
no  use,”  and  ordered  the  anchor  up.  It  was  now 
toward  evening,  and  they  were  off  and  away  to  meet 
Mr.  Lyndsay  at  the  beach. 

“Don’t  paddle,”  said  Carington.  “Keep  her  straight; 
that  is  all.” 

He  was  more  than  willing  to  lengthen  the  time  of 
their  too  brief  voyage.  Both  seemed  inclined  to  the 
lonely  satisfaction  of  silent  thought. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


247 


As  they  neared  the  Island  beach,  Rose  said,  “ I 
have  had  so  delightful  an  afternoon  that  I almost 
forgot  mama’s  message.  I was  to  ask  you  to  come 
down  to-morrow — no,  Monday — night,  after  dinner, 
and  Mr.  Ellett,  of  course.  We  will  try  to  show  you 
what  silly  folk  we  can  be.  We  are  guilty  of  much 
folly,  I assure  you.  We  will  play  * Situations’ — we 
call  it i Plots.’  ” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ Oh,  you  will  learn  — and  charades,  I dare  say.” 

“ It  looks  formidable.” 

“ It  is  — it  will  be.  I have  to  get  even  with  you 
about  that  bowman  business.” 

“ But  I am  reeking  with  remorse.” 

“ I don’t  believe  it.  By  the  way,  in  my  moistened 
haste,  I gave  you  my  luck-piece,  my  dear  little  gold 
dollar.” 

“ Well.” 

“ I want  it  back.” 

“And  my  pay  ? I do  not  work  for  nothing.” 

“You  shall  have  a big  silver  dollar.” 

“No,  that  is  worth  only  eighty-five  cents:  pure 
swindle  that ! ” 

“ But  I want  it.” 

“ I like  that.” 

“ I shall  never  rest  till  I get  it.” 

“ I am  so  sorry.” 

“ But  I really  don’t  care.” 

“ That  is  a relief  to  my  conscience.” 

“ Oh,  Pardy ! I have  killed  a grilse  and  a thirty- 
eight-pound  salmon.” 

“And  I nothing.  Mr.  Carington  must  have  or- 


248  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

dered  all  the  fish  up-stream.  Might  I ask  for  some 
water  ? ” 

“Yes.  Michelle,  get  a jug  fresh  from  the  spring. 
Come  to  the  tents.  Alas,  Mr.  Lyndsay,  to-morrow  is 
Sunday  — no  fishing.” 

“ No,  indeed.  How  good  that  water  is  ! Rose,  you 
might  take  that  grilse  to  Mrs.  Maybrook  to-morrow.” 
“ I will,  unless  it  is  too  hot.  Good-by,  Mr.  Caring- 
ton.  How  comfortable  you  look  here  !”  They  were 
now  in  the  dinner-tent.  “And  books  ! You  are  worse 
than  Aunt  Anne.”  And  they  went  away. 

Carington  watched  them  from  shore  as  they  hailed 
Ellett,  who  went  by  them  with  three  good  fish. 

“ Now,”  said  Carington,  “ if  it  is  cool  in  the  morn- 
ing, I shall  go  to  see  Mrs.  Maybrook,  to  pay  for  the 
milk : and  if  it  is  warm,  I shall  go  in  the  afternoon. 
I hope  the  thermometer  will  be  definite.” 


CHAPTER  XIX 


lis  Saturday  evening,  while  Rose 
,s  relating  her  day  to  Aunt  Anne, 
3 Colkett  sat,  meditatively,  astride 
his  wood-saddle.1  In  the  morn- 
g he  had  seen  Dorothy  Maybrook, 
id  had  been  as  cunning  as  he 
knew  how  to  be.  He  had  found  Dory  engaged  in 
“p’inting  her  man,77  as  she  said ; he  was  to  saw  some 
wood,  and  to  kill  two  chickens  for  Mrs.  Lyndsay7s 
table.  “ Now,  two  p7ints,  Hiram,  two ! 77  The  pale, 
square-shouldered  man  considered  her  with  dull  eyes. 

u You  said  two  pairs.77 

u Oh,  you  are  not  p7inted  right  yet.  Don7t  you  kill 
more  than  two  chickens.  Here,77  and  she  set  two  pins 
in  his  sleeve,  “ you  can  look  at  these.77 

“ There,  one  pin  stands  for  each  chicken,77  he  said. 
“ Guess  1 7m  p7inted,77  and  he  went  away. 

“ What  7s  wanting,  Joe?77  she  said.  “ How  7s  Susie  ? 77 

“ Oh,  she  7s  kind  of  upsot.  She  takes  on  7bout  that 
last  boy  like  there  was  n7t  a boy  on  airth.77 

“ There  is  n7t  for  her.77 

“ There  7s  no  gainsayin7  that.  She  7s  alius  a-talkin7 
about  them  Lyndsays,  and  how  they  sot  a stone,  a 
right  handsome  stone,  up  on  that  there  boy  of  theirn, — 

1 The  cross-pieces  on  which  wood  is  laid  for  sawing. 

249 


250  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

and  she  ain’t  got  none.  Women  ’s  awful  queer,  Dory. 
I can’t  buy  no  tombstone.” 

“It  does  n’t  seem  so  queer  to  me.  Can’t  you  get 
some  kind  of  a thing,  just  to  please  the  woman? 
Why,  if  it  was  only  of  wood,  you  see,  it  might  help.” 
“That  ’s  so.  I was  a sort  of  thinkin’  ’bout  that. 
Queer  how  fplks  thinks  ’bout  the  same  things.” 
“Were  you?  Well,  you  ’re  a better  kind  of  man 
than  I took  you  for,  Joe  Colkett.  Your  wife ’s  about 
half  off  her  wits  with  grieving.  If  I was  you,  I 
would  n’t — well,  I would  n’t  take  her  too  serious. 
People  that  are  troubled  the  way  she  is  do  have 
strange  notions.  I think  the  devil  he  ’s  as  like  as 
not  to  get  a grip  on  us  when  we  are — ” 

“What  was  you  a-thinkin’,  Dory?”  he  broke  in, 
suspiciously. 

“ I ain’t  fully  minded  to  tell  you,  Joe.  But  Susie ’s 
a masterful  woman,  and  don’t  you  let  her  get  you  into 
trouble.  If  it ’s  money,  my  man  and  me  we  ?ve  got 
a little  put  by.  I’d  a heap  rather  spend  a bit  of  it 
than  see  you  tormented  into  some  wickedness.” 

“ You  must  think  I ’m  right  bad,  Dory.  Can’t  you 
talk  out  ? ” 

“No  5 I might,  but  I won’t.  Only  you  remember, 
Joe,  I did  n’t  say  you  were  bad,  but  I do  say  any- 
body you  care  for  might  p’int  you  wrong.  It  ’s  a 
queer  thing  how  easy  men  can  be  p’inted.” 

He  was  terribly  scared,  and,  seeing  that  no  more 
was  to  be  had  out  of  Dory,  resolved  to  profit  by  her 
warning.  How  she  could  have  guessed  anything  of 
his  or  his  wife’s  intentions  he  was  at  a loss  to  compre- 
hend. But  he  was  timid,  and  eager  to  steer  clear  of 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  251 


trouble.  After  a few  moments  of  silent  consideration, 
he  spoke : 

“ It  ain7t  always  easy  to  keep  straight.  Guess  1 7m 
pointed  now,  like  Hiram/7  and  he  grinned.  “ I don7t 
drink  none  neither,  not  now.77 

“ Stick  to  that  and  keep  your  mouth  shut,  or  it 
may  be  worse  for  you — and  for  Susie,  too,77  she  added. 

u I will.  Don7t  you  be  afraid.77 

“ And  what  fetched  you,  Joe  ? 77 

“ I was  minded  to  set  a nice  clean  board  over  them 
boys.  I was  a-tellin7  you  that.  And  I can7t  read 
none  nor  write.  But  if  you  was  to  write  big  on  a 
paper  just  what  a man  might  want  to  set  on  a board 
like  I was  a-talkin7  of,  guess  I could  copy  it  plain 
enough.77 

Dorothy  considered.  u Can  you  wait  ? It  711  be 
quite  a time.77 

“ Yes,  I kin  wait.77 

She  left  him,  and  went  into  the  house,  and  was 
gone  a full  hour.  What  the  man  thought  of  as  he 
leaned  against  the  rails,  or  sat  on  top,  I do  not  know. 
He  had  the  patience  of  an  ant. 

When  he  saw  Dorothy  again  at  the  door  he  climbed 
down,  and,  with  some  excitement  in  his  face,  went 
toward  the  cabin. 

“It  was  n7t  right  easy,  Joe.  I was  thinking  I 
might  ask  Mr.  Carington  about  it.  Mr.  Lyndsay 
he  7d  be  best;  but  I guess  I would  n7t  ask  him.77 

“ No,77  said  Joe,  promptly.  He  saw  why  this  might 
not  be  well.  “ I don7t  want  nobody  to  know,  Dory, 
7cept  you  and  Susie.  It  711  kind  of  surprise  her,  and 
she  711  like  it.77  Then  he  added,  with  some  cunning, 


252 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“She  hates  to  have  folks  goin’  there  where  them 
children  ’s  buried.” 

“I  shall  never  want  to,”  said  Dorothy.  She  still 
carried  an  unpleasant  remembrance  of  the  dismal 
burial. 

“ Well,  I thought  I ’d  tell  you,  Dory.” 

“Yes,  of  course.”  She  took  the  hint  as  but  an- 
other evidence  of  Susie’s  state  of  mind  and  of  Joe’s 
dreads  and  anxieties,  and  failed  to  examine  it  closely, 
not  being  of  a suspicious  turn,  despite  a life  which 
had  given  little  and  taken  much.  Whoever  asked  of 
Dorothy  a favor  approached  her  on  the  side  of  her 
nature  most  open  to  capture. 

“You  are  a good  deal  more  patient  than  most 
men,”  she  said.  “ Come  in ; come  in.”  Joe  entered 
after  her.  A Sunday  quiet  was  in  the  air  of  the 
place.  There  was  no  fire,  and  the  sun,  as  it  looked 
in,  disclosed  no  want  anywhere  of  neatness  and  care. 
It  was  not  lost  on  poor  Joe  as  he  looked  around  the 
small  house.  He  had  been  here  often,  but  there  are 
times  when  we  see  and  times  when  we  do  not.  Now, 
perhaps  because  of  being  on  guard,  all  his  senses,  and 
the  inert  mind  back  of  them,  were  more  alive  than 
usual.  A book  lying  open  on  the  spotless  table 
struck  him  most ; a snow-white  rolling-pin  had  been 
hastily  laid  on  it  to  keep  the  place  at  the  moment  of 
Joe’s  coming. 

He  was  bent  on  making  himself  agreeable  to  his 
hostess,  who  now  stood  by  an  open  window,  well 
satisfied  with  her  work,  a large  sheet  of  paper  in  her 
hand.  She  had  put  on  for  Sunday  a white  gown 
which  had  known  the  summers  of  Georgia.  It  was 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


253 


clean  and  much  mended,  but  it  Set  off  her  fair  rosi- 
ness and  dark  hair,  and  made  her  look  larger  than 
she  was. 

“ Sit  down,  Joe.” 

“ Guess  I will,”  said  Joe.  “ Top  rail  of  Hiram’s 
fence  is  mighty  sharp.” 

He  sat  down  with  caution,  being  heavy.  In  his 
own  home  the  furniture  was  apt  to  go  to  pieces  unless 
humored  by  a but  gradual  abandonment  to  it  of  the 
full  weight  of  the  human  frame.  Satisfied  as  to  this, 
he  began  to  use  the  weapon  of  his  sex : 

“You  ’re  well  fixed  up  here,  Dory.  There  ain’t 
many  women  could  keep  a man’s  house  lookin’  like 
yourn ! ” 

“ Oh,  it ’s  only  just  to  not  let  things  get  ahead  of 
you,  and  to  keep  your  man  p’inted  right.” 

“Might  be  the  woman  mostly,”  he  said.  “Some 
women  p’ints  themselves,  and  some  women  don’t.  It 
is  n’t  every  woman ’s  got  your  talents.” 

“I  don’t  know,  Joe.  Sometimes  I think  it  is  n’t 
worth  while  to  go  on  and  on  this  way,  and  then  I let 
things  go  a while  just  any  way  they  ’re  a-minded. 
That ’s  burying  your  talents,  Joe;  and  then  at  last  I 
can’t  stand  it,  and  I dig  up  my  little  talents,  and  dust 
them  well,  and  say,  1 Get  up  on  your  legs,  and  attend 
to  your  business.’”  Her  parables  were  never  clear 
to  him. 

“We  live  just  like  hogs  at  my  house.” 

“ No,  you  don’t,”  cried  Dorothy,  laughing.  “ I hate 
to  hear  a man  taking  away  the  characters  of  respect- 
able animals.  A hog  has  always  got  his  nose  over 
the  trough.  He  wants  his  feed  like  everything. 


254  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


He  ’ll  work  for  it  all  day  — and  smart ! Why,  he  ’ll 
be  into  your  truck-patch  and  out,  when  he  sees  you, 
before  you  can  turn  round.  He  knows  what  he 
wants,  and  he  goes  for  it ; and  he  knows  when  he ’s 
stealing  as  well  as  you  or  me.  I hate  to  hear  an 
animal  called  pig-headed  because  he  don’t  mean  to  be 
ordered  here  or  there  by  a fellow  that  has  n’t  got  half 
his  will  or  half  his  brains.  There ! ” 

“ Gosh,  Dory,  but  you  ’re  a funny  woman.” 

“ Am  I ? There  is  more  than  fun  in  that  sermon. 
Look  here;  this  might  do.”  And,  as  he  came  near 
and  stood  with  huge  square  hands  on  the  table,  she 
spread  out  the  sheet  of  paper. 

“ Can’t  you  read  any  of  it,  Joe  ? ” 

“ Not  no  word  of  it.  I might  know  the  letters  — 
the  big  ones.” 

He  looked  at  it  as  a scholar  might  at  some  papyrus 
in  an  unknown  language.  “ You  might  read  it,”  he 
said. 

Upon  this,  with  a finger  on  each  word,  as  she  went 
on,  and  with  his  eyes  following  it  with  interest,  she 
read  slowly : 

“here  lie  the  bodies 
of 

SUSAN  FAIRLAMB, 

PETER  FAIRLAMB,  AND 
ISAIAH  FAIRLAMB, 

CHILDREN  OF  SUSAN  AND 
PETER  FAIRLAMB.” 

“ I guess  I ’d  leave  him  out,”  said  Joe,  straighten- 
ing himself. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  255 


u But  children  must  have  a father.” 

“ There  ain't  no  need  to  say  it,  though,  Dory. 
Susie  she  won't  like  it.” 

“ Well,  it  is  n't  my  tombstone,”  said  Dorothy. 
“He  was  n't  much  use  to  them  when  he  was  alive ; 
we  '11  leave  him  out.”  Untrammeled  by  the  usages  of 
the  world,  she  put  a pen  through  the  statement  of 
parental  relation. 

“ What  about  the  dates  — the  days  they  died,  and 
their  ages?” 

“ Derned  if  I know,  except  about  Isaiah.  It  don't 
matter  none.”  He  was  reflecting  that  the  work  before 
him  might  be  reasonably  lessened. 

“It  really  don't  matter,”  she  returned.  “ But,  Joe, 
don't  you  want  some  verse  out  of  the  Bible  ? They 
most  generally  do  put  that.” 

“ It  makes  a heap  of  work,  and  my  knife  ain't  none 
too  sharp.  Make  it  short,  anyways.” 

Certain  grim  texts  came  into  Dorothy's  mind,  but 
she  set  them  aside.  At  last  she  wrote: 

Of  such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven ! 

and  repeated  the  phrase  aloud. 

“That 's  as  short  as  you  could  make  it?”  he  said. 
“ Yes.  Do  you  come  down  to-morrow  morning  — 
no,  on  Monday.  I '11  baste  four  big  sheets  together, 
and  print  it  all,  the  size  you  will  want  it.  Then  you 
can  easily  copy  the  letters.  How  will  that  do  ? ” 

“ First  rate.  I 'm  awful  obliged  to  you,  Dory.” 

“ Can  Susan  read  it  ? ” 

“ Well,  she  can  manage  to  spell  it  out,-  and  you  '11 
read  it  to  me  a couple  of  times,  so  I '11  be  able  to  tell 


256  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


her  if  she  ain’t  got  the  meanin’  straight.  I ’ll  come, 
and  don’t  you  let  no  one  know.” 

“Well,  good-by.”  She  made  no  promise.  She  had 
too  clear  a sense  of  the  ridiculous  to  want  to  let  this 
thing  stand  uncriticized.  It  was  for  her  a novel 
venture.  Now  she  saw  the  man  go,  and  stood  herself 
a moment  in  the  sun,  facing  the  doorway,  and  resting 
with  both  hands  on  the  table.  Her  own  children  lay 
in  nameless  graves  in  the  far  South,  buried  in  days 
when  war  and  want  had  made  record  difficult.  She 
was  recalling  the  live-oak  grove  where  the  two  small 
mounds  were  crumbling  to  the  common  level  of  earth. 
At  last  she  smiled,  and  said  aloud : 

“ I guess  Christ  will  know  where  to  find  them.” 

“ What  was  you  sayin’  ? ” said  Hiram,  entering. 

“ I was  only  p’inting  myself,  Hiram.” 

“ Do  you  have  need  to  do  that,  Dory  ? I ’d  ’a’  never 
guessed  that.” 

“Oh,  pretty  often.”  She  herself  would  scarcely 
have  said  “p’inting”  in  her  talk  with  the  Lyndsays, 
but  that  her  husband  used  the  word,  and  she  had 
come  to  regard  it  by  habit  as  having  a specific  signifi- 
cance other  than  that  of  its  proper,  unabbreviated 
parent. 

Meanwhile  Joe  Colkett  walked  homeward,  with  so 
much  mind  as  he  possessed  at  ease.  The  rest  of  the 
enterprise  seemed  small  compared  to  the  difficulty 
over  which  poor  Dorothy  had  so  innocently  helped 
him. 

At  times  he  had  been  inclined  to  content  himself 
with  a neat  wooden  tomb-mark.  Being  clever  enough 
with  tools,  this  might  easily  have  been  managed ; but 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


257 


now,  tlie  hard,  half-distraught  woman,  whose  worn 
middle  age  still  had  his  love,  for  whom  he  would 
have  dared  all  his  nature  let  him  dare,  was  ever  at 
his  elbow  with  hints  as  to  the  possibility  of  crime. 
He  had,  however,  no  natural  tendency  to  grave 
wrong-doing,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  could 
propitiate  this  relentless  temptress  by  gratifying  her 
lesser  desire,  she  might  be  content  and  cease  to  urge 
him  into  worse  ways.  He  was  distinctly  afraid  of  his 
wife,  and,  once  or  twice,  of  himself,  when  she  had  set 
before  him  what  they  could  do  with  money,  and  how 
pleasant  it  might  be  to  get  drunk  when  he  liked. 

At  least  now  she  should  have  her  more  innocent 
wish  satisfied.  Nor  was  it  strange  that  he  gave  no 
thought  to  the  people  he  was  about  to  plunder.  He 
had  lived  too  much  of  late  in  the  black  shade  of  the 
possibilities  of  larger  crime  to  be  troubled  by  the 
smaller  sin  he  was  so  eager  to  commit.  Nor  could  he 
supply  to  the  minds  of  those  he  meant  to  rob  more 
motives  than  his  own  imagination  supplied,  and  it 
taught  him  nothing  in  the  way  of  sentiment  con- 
cerning these  records  of  the  dead. 


17 


CHAPTER  XX 


OE  went  home,  and,  as  he  approached, 
saw  the  woman,  his  wife,  at  the 
wood-pile.  One  foot  was  on  a log, 
and,  as  she  struck,  she  swung  the 
ax  with  the  ease  of  habit  and  of 
strength.  Joe  stood  a moment  think- 
ing what  a fine,  big  creature  it  was.  He  admired  the 
physical  power  and  the  dexterity  of  this  gaunt  being, 
to  whom  unkindly  time  had  left  none  of  the  fair 
curves  of  her  sex. 

Once  he  had  humbly  wondered  why  the  tall  and 
still  handsome  Susan  had  given  herself  to  him ; but 
for  years  he  had  too  well  known  her  motives,  and 
slowly,  by  degrees,  there  had  been  revealed  to  his 
simplicity  the  true  nature  of  the  wife  he  had  taken. 
It  did  not  destroy,  it  scarcely  lessened,  his  attachment. 
The  poor  fellow  had  by  birthright  a great  fortune  in 
capacity  to  love.  No  one  had  cared  for  him,  and 
when  he  found  this  single  love  of  a sad  life,  it  was 
not  in  his  construction  to  be  capable  of  change. 

“ Halloa,  Susie ! Why,  I ’ll  do  that ! ” he  cried 
cheerfully. 

She  stopped  short,  and,  turning,  faced  him.  “You 
ain’t  man  enough  even  to  cut  wood  for  a woman.” 
And  again  she  struck  to  right  and  left  with  masculine 

258 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


259 


vigor.  u Get  out,  or  I ’ll  let  you  have  it,”  she  said, 
whirling  the  ax  around  her  head  as  he  fell  back. 
And  still  the  vigor  and  force  of  the  woman  pleased 
him,  despite  the  sense  that  he  was  being  ill  used. 

“ But  I ’ve  been  doin’  somethin’  for  you  that  ’ll 
please  you  a heap.” 

She  ceased  to  chop  as  he  spoke,  and,  standing,  faced 
him. 

u You  can’t  fool  me.  You ’ve  been  after  drink.  I 
know  you.  Get  in  and  make  the  bed,  it  ain’t  been 
made  all  day;  and  there  ’s  a pair  of  socks  needs 
darning.”  She  laughed.  “ Pretty  dear,  he  is!” 

The  sarcasm  was  thrown  away.  He  stared  at  her 
a moment  in  dull  wonder,  and  went  in,  and  tossed 
up  the  pillows,  and  turned  the  corn-husk  mattress, 
and  propped  a broken  chair  against  the  wall,  and  did 
his  best  to  make  it  all  look  like  the  neat  order  in 
Dorothy’s  cabin.  Next  he  took  a half-loaf  of  stale 
bread,  and  went  out  the  back  door  and  into  the 
woods. 

It  was  now  dusk.  Avoiding  the  road,  he  strode 
with  a woodman’s  skill  through  the  deeper  forest, 
over  a hill-top,  and  thus  down  to  the  river,  and  so 
at  last  found  himself  above  the  clearings.  Here  he 
came  upon  the  dugout  he  had  hidden  in  the  alders 
two  days  before.  He  got  in  and  poled  up-stream  in 
the  darkness,  passing  the  burnt  lands,  and  coming  at 
length  to  a deserted  flat.  It  had  once  been  a good 
pasture,  but  some  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
channel,  and  now  in  the  spring  the  waters  always 
went  over  it.  Where  coarse  undergrowth  had  sprung 
up,  the  ice  of  the  April  floods  had  torn  long  lanes 


260 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


of  ravage.  The  dead  or  half-dead  bushes  were  bent 
southward,  and  weighted  with  a ragged  tangle  of 
leaves  and  twigs  caught  in  the  angular  branchings 
of  the  stems : a desolate  place,  and  wild  enough  in 
the  uncertain  evening  light. 

Beyond  the  ruined  cabin,  which  the  changes  of  the 
river  curves  had  made  untenable,  he  crossed  the  in- 
land road.  He  might  easily  have  come  by  it,  but 
had  wisely  avoided  even  this  small  chance  of  being 
seen.  On  the  farther  side  was  an  oblong,  white  frame- 
building, the  Methodist  chapel.  Once  in  a month  it 
was  used  in  its  turn  for  service  by  the  lean  minister. 
It  was  likely  that  no  one  would  be  near  it  for  two 
weeks,  and,  in  fact,  here  the  road  ended. 

Joe  got  over  into  the  graveyard  and  looked  about 
him.  There  were  three  or  four  heavy  slabs  of  gray 
stone,  and  a dozen  or  two  of  unmarked  graves,  over 
which  he  stumbled  with  a curse.  He  looked  around 
and  listened.  Only  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  rapids 
reached  his  ear,  and  he  saw  the  moon  just  over  the 
tree-tops.  The  light  aiding  him,  he  came  at  last  on 
the  simple,  white,  upright  slab  set  over  the  child’s 
grave.  He  seized  it,  with  no  hesitation,  and  began 
to  rock  it  sideways,  to  and  fro.  At  last  it  was  loos- 
ened, and,  with  no  more  thought  than  he  would  have 
given  the  felling  of  a pine,  he  tore  it  out,  and  with 
difficulty  hoisted  it  on  his  back,  and  set  out  toward 
the  river.  It  was  easily  lifted  over  the  low  stone 
wall  of  the  graveyard,  but  as  he  set  it  on  the  top  of 
the  fence  beyond  the  road,  and  began  to  climb  over, 
the  rail  broke  and  he  fell,  the  heavy  marble  tumbling 
on  his  foot  so  as  to  cut  the  instep.  He  sat  down, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  261 


with  an  oath,  and  took  off  his  boot.  He  was  in  great 
pain.  The  boot  was  torn,  as  he  found,  and  half  full 
of  blood.  It  was  an  hour  before  he  could  get  it  on 
again  and  walk  at  all. 

At  length  he  got  over  the  broken  fence,  thinking 
only  in  his  suffering  of  the  woman  and  how  she 
would  like  what  he  meant  to  do  for  her.  Twice  he 
failed  to  lift  the  slab  onto  his  back,  and  twice  lay 
down  beside  it,  overcome  by  a strong  feeling  that 
after  all  he  might  fail.  At  last,  in  such  extremity 
of  pain  as  would  have  conquered  most  men,  he  got 
up,  and  set  his  teeth,  and  resolutely  took  up  his  bur- 
den. It  must  have  been  the  most  intense  hour  of  a 
life  without  power  to  call  up  the  past  by  means  of 
pictures,  for,  as  he  staggered  through  the  gloom, 
sweating  with  effort  and  from  increasing  torture,  he 
was  given  a brief  moment  when  he  saw  Susan  as  he 
first  knew  her,  a slim,  strong,  young  woman,  with  the 
emphatic  beauty  of  anger  upon  her.  It  made  him 
stronger,  and  he  went  on.  At  last  he  reached  the 
dugout,  and  saying,  from  mere  habit,  “ Thank  the 
Lord ! I done  it,”  he  sat  a while  with  his  foot  in 
the  cool  river  water. 

It  was  true  that  at  no  moment  had  he  felt  the  ter- 
rors which  few  had  escaped  in  the  lonely  home  of  the 
dead  he  had  robbed.  Now  he  was  at  ease  and  as- 
sured of  success.  He  laid  the  stone  in  the  boat.  As 
he  stood  an  instant  in  the  gloom  of  a profound  still- 
ness, a cold  gust  of  wind  came  down  from  the  hills, 
and,  with  wail  and  roar  in  the  pines  beyond,  swooped 
onto  the  level,  and  for  a moment  shook  life  of  move- 
ment into  the  dead  gray  streamers  of  moss  and  the 

17* 


262 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


hanging  wreckage  of  torn  underbrush.  The  next 
moment  all  was  still  again.  It  is  not  a very  rare 
phenomenon,  but  he  might  not  before  have  given  it 
attention.  Somehow  its  unusualness  impressed  him, 
so  that  he  shivered  as  he  felt  the  momentary  cool- 
ness, and  with  this  came  the  familiar  notion  of  his 
childhood  that  a dog  was  crawling  over  his  grave. 
He  jumped  into  the  pirogue,  shoved  it  off,  and  was 
at  once  away  in  the  current.  As  he  sat  down,  with 
his  paddle  in  hand,  he  reflected  that  the  white  stone 
was  full  in  view  and  that  some  one  might  by  chance 
be  out  with  a drag-net  poaching.  He  put  into  shore, 
and  carefully  covered  the  stone  with  ferns.  There 
was,  of  course,  the  risk  of  a river-warden’s  inquisi- 
tion, but  he  knew  when  the  rounds  were  made,  and 
so  ran  on  fearlessly,  keeping  a sharp  eye  ahead. 

No  one  troubled  him.  He  got  ashore  near  his 
cabin,  and  still  in  the  utmost  pain,  resting  often  on 
the  way,  carried  the  stone  to  the  wood,  where,  in  se- 
cure remoteness  from  his  house,  he  could  go  on  with 
the  needed  work.  On  his  way  homeward  he  picked 
up  two  steel  traps  as  an  excuse  for  his  absence. 

When  he  entered  the  house  it  was  early  morning, 
and,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  Susan  afoot.  Her  habit 
was  to  lie  abed  until  Joe  had  been  up  some  time,  kin- 
dled the  fire,  and  perhaps  even  had  set  the  frying- 
pan  to  heat,  and  made  tea,  which  she  was  accustomed 
to  drink  in  excessive  amounts.  On  other  days,  of 
late,  she  was  apt  to  lie  abed  still  longer,  to  refuse 
food,  and  decline  to  take  the  least  notice  of  Joe.  For 
him  these  moods  represented  the  mother’s  grief.  If 
he  did  not  fully  comprehend  it,  he  at  least  tried  his 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  263 


best  to  disregard  the  inconvenience  thus  added  to  his 
wretched  life.  His  canine  simpleness  craved  mere 
affectionate  regard,  and  in  its  lack,  and  the  undefined 
misery  this  caused  him,  the  woman  possessed  a deadly 
weapon.  And  now,  on  this  occasion,  to  his  surprise 
she  was  up,  and  his  sorry  breakfast  of  stale  bread 
and  bacon  ready. 

Of  trees  to  fell,  or  quality  of  rafted  lumber,  he 
knew  enough  to  be  a good  hand  in  the  woods  or  on 
the  spring  drives,  but  naturally  enough  was  unob- 
servant of  people.  Nevertheless  he  noticed  that  his 
wife  had  on  a not  uncleanly  gown,  and  a bit  of  worn 
ribbon,  and  had  set  her  unkempt  locks  in  order. 

“ Law,  Susie,  you  look  right  slick,”  he  said. 

“Been  after  the  traps,  Joe?”  she  said,  glancing  at 
the  rusty  irons  in  his  hand.  “ Get  anything  ? ” 

“ Guess  so.  A muskrat  and  a wood-chuck.” 

“ Let  ’s  see.”  He  went  out  and  brought  them  in. 

“ Chuck  ’s  good  and  fat,  Susie,  and  I know  where 
another  one  lives!” 

“ Just  ain’t  he  fat ! And  the  rat-skin  ? ” 

“ That  ain’t  much.” 

“But  it  ’d  make  a nice  purse  if  there  was  any 
money  to  put  in  it.” 

“ That ’s  so,  Susie.” 

“But  we  ’ll  get  something  to  put  in  it,”  she  said, 
setting  her  large  red  eyes  on  the  man,  and  speaking 
with  cold  cheerfulness. 

“Yes,”  he  returned  hastily.  “I  ’ll  get  a job  up 
river  soon.  Them  Boston  men  ’s  set  on  buildin’  a 
house.  Thought  I ’d  see  ’bout  gettin’  on  to  that.” 
“ Is  Carington  cornin’  to  hunt  caribou  ? ” 


264 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Don’t  know  rightly.  He  ain’t  said  nothin’,  ’cept  . 
last  week.  I ain’t  seen  him  since.” 

“He  ’ll  come,  I guess,  Joe,  and  then,  if  you  ’re  a 
man,  there  ’ll  be  a chance.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  he  said  anxiously.  “ Time  ’nough.” 

He  was  dreadfully  scared.  He  felt  that  he  might 
be  made  to  do  anything. 

A smile  crawled  sluggishly  over  her  face.  “ That ’s 
so.  But  the  thing  is  to  get  your  mind  set  to  it. 
Might  happen  a good  chance  any  day.” 

He  was  too  simple  not  to  show  his  fear,  and  she 
was  quick  enough  to  see. 

“You  trust  me,  old  man,  to  fix  it,  and  there  won’t 
be  nobody  ’ll  ever  guess  who  done  it.” 

“You  ain’t  called  me  your  old  man,  Susie,  this  two 
year,”  he  said.  “ Now  don’t  you  go  for  to  want  me 
to  do  somethin’  like  that.” 

“There  ain’t  no  harm  in  considerin’  things,  Joe. 
Everything ’s  just  gone  against  you  and  me,  and  if  a 
good  chance  was  to  turn  up  — a right  safe  one  — I 
guess  you  ’d  not  be  the  man  I took  you  for  if  you 
don’t  just  grab  it.” 

“Well,  we  ’ll  see,”  he  said,  eager  to  get  off  the 
subject.  He  had  become  set  in  his  mind  as  to  this 
matter,  and  meant  somehow  to  escape  the  toils  she 
was  casting  about  him.  “What  ’s  for  breakfast, 
Susie  f ” 

“ Oh,  that  old  hen ’s  took  to  layin’  again.  There ’s 
eggs  and  bacon,  and  I done  you  some  slapjacks.” 

“ That ’s  good.  I ’m  hungry.”  As  he  passed  her 
to  sit  at  the  table  he  kissed  her.  u Why,  you  look 
right  pert  to-day.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  265 


u Thought  you  might  be  a-spyin?  round  Dory.  Got 
to  keep  an  eye  on  you  fellows,”  and  she  laughed. 
Manufactured  laughter  is  a dreary  product;  but  it 
answered  for  poor  Joe  as  well  as  the  most  honest 
coinage  of  a merry  heart.  It  set  him  at  ease  for  a 
time,  and  they  ate,  while  the  woman  tried  to  revive 
for  her  victim  the  coarse  coquetry  of  her  younger 
days,  when  she  attracted  or  revolted  men  as  their 
natures  chanced  to  be. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXI 


YNDSAY  had  set  his  heart  on  a sec- 
ond Sunday  morning  on  the  river, 
with  Rose  and  the  trees.  She  read- 
ily gave  up  her  proposed  morning 
visit  to  Dorothy,  and  said  the  af- 
ternoon would  answer.  Miss  Anne 
thought  she  herself  was  strong  enough  for  the  party, 
and  Rose,  much  pleased,  set  about  arranging  her 
cushions  in  Tom’s  canoe. 

“We  will  be  back  to  lunch,  mama,”  said  Rose.  “ It 
is  early.  Will  it  rain  ? It  looks  hazy.” 

“ It  is  smoke,  Rose.  Some  far-away  fire.  Where 
are  the  boys,  Tom  ? ” 

“ Up-river,  sir,  with  the  Gaspe  men.” 

“ Who  gave  them  leave  to  go  ? ” 

“You,  papa,”  said  Rose.  “I  suspect  they  have 
gone  after  those  unhappy  hornets.  They  were  up 
and  away  long  ago.  They  asked  you  last  night.” 

“ Did  they?” 

“Yes;  you  were  deep  in  a book,  and  said  ‘Yes, 
yes/  in  your  dear  old  absent  way.” 

“ I am  sorry.  Mama  thinks  it  a naughty  amuse- 
ment at  best,  and  when  there  is  also  the  additional 
naughtiness  of  battle  on  Sunday!  Well,  they  will 

be  properly  stung  with  remorse  or  hornet-fangs,  or 

266 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  267 


a combination.  The  wounded  will  be  pardoned,  I 
fancy.  Hey,  Rose  ? ” 

“ Like  enough.” 

Mrs.  Maybrook's  vivid  account  of  Susan  Colkett's 
talk  with  Joe  had  made  on  Lyndsay  at  first  a strong 
impression  of  disgust  and  annoyance.  He  saw  in  it, 
after  cooler  reflection,  only  one  of  the  numberless 
beginnings  of  tragic  crime  which  are  refused  the  pros- 
perity of  opportunity.  We  have  no  proverbial  wis- 
dom as  to  what  place  bad  intentions  go  to  pave  5 but 
those  who  see  much  of  the  darker  ways  of  man  are 
well  aware  that  there  is  much  intended  evil,  as  well 
as  intended  good,  which  never  gets  beyond  the  egg 
of  theory.  The  crime  which  Susan  Colkett  was  nurs- 
ing with  the  devil-milk  of  base  use  of  a man's  honest 
love  grew  less  momentous  to  Lyndsay  as  he  consid- 
ered it.  Once  suspected,  it  became  to  him  almost 
childlike  in  its  foolishness.  Crime-seed,  like  the 
grain  of  the  parable,  falls  everywhere.  There  is  a 
human  climate  in  which,  above  all  others,  it  finds 
swift  maturity  of  growth. 

Susan  Colkett  was  by  nature  inclined  to  evil.  She 
had  base  animal  cravings,  liking  high  colors  and 
coarse  meats.  A want  was  with  her  at  once  a fierce 
hunger  of  desire,  and  made  temptation  dangerous  to 
one  who  had  in  its  crude  fullness  brute  courage,  and 
that  dreadful  alliance  of  the  sensual  with  the  destruc- 
tive instincts  which  is  more  rare  in  woman  than  in 
man.  But  of  Susan  Colkett's  personality  Lyndsay 
knew  almost  nothing.  He  was,  however,  by  no  means 
indifferent  as  to  the  matter,  but  had  simply  put  off 
speaking  of  it  to  Carington  for  want  of  an  easy  chance. 


268  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

As  they  came  opposite  the  Island  Camp,  Lyndsay 
said  abruptly: 

“ Run  her  up  onto  the  beach,  Pierre.” 

“Are  you  going  to  stop?  I wish  you  would  n’t 
stop,  papa.  We  have  a very  short  time  to-day.” 

“ I shall  be  back  in  a moment.  I have  been  put- 
ting off  a little  matter  of  — of  business  with  Car- 
ington.  I shall  not  be  long.”  Meanwhile  Anne 
Lvndsay’s  canoe  also  came  to  shore. 

Rose  said  no  more.  She  saw  her  father  disappear 
into  the  tent,  come  out  with  Carington,  and  begin  to 
walk  to  and  fro  on  the  upper  slope.  Very  soon  she 
began  to  be  curious,  as  she  saw  them  pause  and  turn 
and  go  on  again. 

“ What  are  they  talking  about,  Aunt  Anne  ? ” 

Miss  Lyndsay  looked  up  from  a book.  “ How  on 
earth,  my  dear,  should  I know  ? ” 

“ But  are  you  not  curious  ? ” 

“Yes,  I am  always  curious  — as  to  the  good,  and  as 
to  the  bad,  and  as  to  everything  in  between.” 

Rose  laughed.  “ That  covers  the  whole  possibili- 
ties. Here  they  come.  Now  I shall  know.” 

“ I don’t  think  you  will.” 

“ A pair  of  gloves  to  a pound  of  bonbons.” 

“ Done,  goosey  ! Whom  will  you  ask  ? ” 

“ That  is  my  business.  There  was  no  limit  of  time.” 
“None!  But  you  will  lose.  Your  father  looks 
solemn,  and  Mr.  Carington  like  a sphinx.” 

“Given  two  men  and  one  woman,  aunty,  and  a 
thing  to  find  out:  that  seems  an  easy  equation.” 
“ I see  the  unknown  quantity  written  clear  on  both 
faces.  You  won’t  win.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


269 


Carington  stood  a moment  in  gay  chat  with  Rose. 
Then  Lyndsay  said : 

“ Yon  won’t  come  with  us  ? ” 

“No;  not  to-day.”  His  question  was  settled  with- 
out the  thermometer.  He  was  clear  enough  as  to  the 
indiscreetness  of  a useless  morning  with  Rose  and 
two  others,  and  a meeting  at  Mrs.  Maybrook’s  in  the 
afternoon.  He  would  abide  by  the  later  chance  and 
its  less  distracting  accompaniments. 

“We  shall  look  for  you  both  to-morrow,”  said  Miss 
Anne  Lyndsay.  And  they  poled  away  up  the  river, 
while  Rose  talked  to  her  father,  biding  her  time  to 
win  her  little  bet. 

Anne,  lying  in  her  own  canoe,  and  very  comforta- 
ble, fell  into  amused  reflection.  If  books  were  what 
she  dearly  loved  and  closely  studied,  she  had  a no  less 
active  fancy  for  that  rarer  occupation,  the  serious 
study  of  the  human  face.  It  is  a difficult  branch  of 
observation,  because  one  may  not  too  often  or  too  at- 
tentively examine  the  features  of  those  with  whom  we 
are  in  immediate  social  contact.  Like  her  friend,  Dr. 
North,  she  preferred  on  the  whole  the  critical  study 
of  women’s  faces.  She  declared  that  only  these  re- 
paid attention,  and  that  the  hirsute  growths  of  men 
were,  like  the  jungle,  useful  for  the  concealment  of 
animal  expressions.  She  remarked  with  interest  that 
Carington  lacked  this  partial  mask,  and  said  to  her- 
self, “ That  man  has  something  on  his  mind.  Is  it 
about  what  Archie  has  been  telling  him  ? I shall  ask 
Archie.”  Then  she  went  back  to  her  book,  which  was 
her  favorite  “ Reisebilder.” 

In  the  other  canoe,  Rose  had  brought  the  talk 


270  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

around  several  sharp  corners,  and  at  last,  having  no 
better  chance,  said: 

“You  looked  worried,  Pardy,  or  so  very  grave, 
when  you  were  talking  to  Mr.  Carington.  Has  he 
been  naughty,  papa?” 

“ No.” 

“ Well,  what  was  it  ? You  both  seemed  so  intent.” 
“Allow  me,  miss,  to  ask  if  interest  in  me,  in  Mr. 
Carington,  or  in  the  unknown  is  at  the  thriving  root 
of  your  evident  curiosity  ? ” 

“ In  you,  Marc.  Aurelius.” 

“ That  is  pretty  clever,  miss.  Permit  me  to  reply, 
in  the  language  of  my  namesake,  ‘ Mere  curiosity  is 
like  a road  which  leads  nowhere : what  profits  it  to 
go  that  way '?  Also  as  to  things  it  may  be  well,  or  as 
to  those  in  whom  we  have  an  interest,  but  not  as  to 
the  horde  of  men.’  Now,  as  you  have  expressed  no 
interest  in  it  as  a thing  unknown,  and  none  as  to 
Mr.  Carington,  or  mankind,  and  as  it  concerns  him 
chiefly,  I shall  forever  after  hold  my  peace.  You 
lost  your  chance.” 

“ Give  me  another.” 

“Not  I.” 

“ But  I made  a bet  with  Aunt  Anne.” 

“ Then  pay  it.  Have  you  exhausted  your  feminine 
arts  ? ” 

“All  — I give  up ; but  I mean  to  know.  I shall  ask 
Mr.  Carington.” 

“ I would  n’t  do  that,  my  dear  child.” 

“ Oh,  Pardy ! How  you  rose  to  that  fly ! Imagine 
it!” 

“You  minx!  Halloa,  Tom!  Hold  up  a moment. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  271 


Drop  anchor  here.  I want  to  stop.”  They  were  near 
to  the  farther  bank.  “ Here,  Pierre,  put  your  canoe 
alongside.  Are  you  all  right,  Anne  ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ I want  to  show  you  something  before  the  sun  is 
too  high.  Can  you  sketch  here,  Eose  ? The  boat  is 
pretty  quiet  f ” 

“ I am  not  sure  ; I can  try  ” 

“ How  much  darker  it  is,  Tom  ! ” 

“ Yes,  sir.  It  7s  the  smoke.  It 7s  been  about  a bit 
for  a day  or  two.  Now  the  wind  7s  to  south,  it  7s  get- 
tin7  kind  of  thicker.  There  7s  a big  fire  somewhere.” 

“ How  far  ? ” 

“ Might  be  a hundred  miles  away.  ‘Heap  big 
smudge/  Polycarp  says.” 

“ Look  now,”  said  Lyndsay.  “ Try  to  get  me  these 
water-tints.  Take  a bit  of  it.77 

“ I can7t.  What  makes  these  colors  ? They  are 
beyond  me.” 

“ The  sun  must  be  back  of  you  $ the  water  near 
you  — that  is,  you  must  be  low  down.  Then  the 
stone-tints  of  the  river-bed  are  caught  by  the  many 
changeful  mirrors  of  the  surface.  It  is,  as  you  see, 
pretty  well  wave-broken  here.  Also,  the  general 
color  is  that  of  this  yellow-red  gravel  slope  oppo- 
site, mixed  with  the  green  of  the  trees.” 

“Then,”  said  Anne,  “it  gets  color — surface  color 
— from  within,  and  also  from  without,  like  one’s  per- 
sonality.” 

“ That  is  it,  I see,”  said  Eose.  “ But  the  blue  in 
the  waves  is  so  deep  — deeper  than  the  sky.  It  is 
intense  indigo.  More  heavenly  than  heaven.” 


272  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Yes,  that  is  so.  It  is  because,  as  we  partly  face 
the  current,  you  look  into  the  concavities  of  thou- 
sands of  waves,  and  each  condenses,  so  to  speak,  the 
blue  of  large  sky  spaces.  Am  I clear  ? ” 

“‘Each  nobler  soul  inherits  heaven’s  largeness/’7 
quoted  Anne. 

“ Thanks,  aunty.  The  greenish  gold  of  the  surface 
is  the  color  of  the  bank,  made  also  deeper  in  hue  be- 
cause of  being  caught  on  the  myriad  rippling  of  the 
water.” 

“ Good,  my  dear.” 

“ How  beautiful  it  is ! — the  flashing  cupfuls  of  blue 
in  among  this  bloom  of  green  and  gold.  No  one 
could  paint  it.” 

“ It  is  best  at  evening,  Rose,  but  not  at  this  point. 
There  is  a place  some  miles  up  where  the  general  sur- 
face is  silvered  by  a mass  of  white  or  light-gray 
granite,  and  in  this  you  have  set  again  the  numberless 
wave-shells  of  indigo-blue — a dance  of  blue  in  silver.” 

“Is  n’t  that  smoke  getting  very  much  thicker? 
The  colors  are  less  brilliant  now.” 

“Yes,  ma’am.  The  wind  blows  it  up  the  gorges. 
Happen  might  smell  it.” 

“I  do,”  said  Anne.  “One  can  hardly  see  the  farther 
hills.” 

“ Some  men,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ fancy  that  it  affects 
the  fishing  unfavorably ; but  two  years  ago,  on  the 
Cascapedia,  the  water  was  so  saturated  with  smoke 
as  to  be  undrinkable,  and  still  the  fish  rose  well.  I 
wanted  to  study  with  you  again,  Rose,  the  purple 
color  of  the  dead  trees  above  us ; but  this  smoke  will 
somewhat  affect  it.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  273 


“ Let  us  get  on  to  the  beach,  papa.”  And  in  a mo- 
ment they  were  seated  on  a log,  Anne  lying  at  ease 
beside  them. 

“It  gets  still  more  dense,  Rose.  We  must  give  up 
the  water.  Sketch  that  sprawling  dead  pine  yonder ; 
it  seems  reeling  back,  and  the  one  in  front  looks  as  if 
it  had  just  hit  it.” 

“ How  droll,  Archie ! ” said  Anne.  “ May  I talk,  or 
will  it  disturb  the  higher  art  ? ” 

“No.  Talk  as  much  as  you  like.  No  one  could  be 
cruel  enough  to  deny  you  the  safety-valve  of  talk.” 

“ If  you  had  said  no,  I should  have  wanted  to  talk. 
I am  now  perversely  inclined  to  silence.” 

“ It  is  a self -limited  disease  with  you,  Anne.” 

“Thank  you!  I was  wondering  a little  whether 
you  were  right  about  the  use  of  minute  observation 
of  nature  by  the  poets.  Rose  told  me  what  you  had 
said.  It  was,  I think,  that  Wordsworth  was  apt  to  be 
over-credited  with  this  faculty,  and  that  others  have 
had  it  far  beyond  him.” 

“ Yes ; it  is  the  spiritual  use  of  what  he  saw  that  is 
his  distinctive  quality.  I think  he  carries  that  at 
times  to  the  utmost  endurable  limit  — even  to  near 
touch  of  the  absurd.” 

“ That  may  be  so.  I think  the  limits  of  acceptance 
depend  on  one’s  moods.  Of  course,  too  minute  notice 
in  verse  of  natural  peculiarities  may  be  possible. 
Now,  these  colors  — how  could  one  put  them  in 
verse  ? ” 

“ Oh,  aunty,  you  forget : 

1 A silver  plane  of  fretted  gold, 

Set  thick  with  shells  of  violet  blue.’  ” 


18 


274  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ That  is  mere  description,  Archie  — good  enough 
and  true ; but  what  I mean  is  that  accurate  descrip- 
tion does  not,  as  a rule,  consist  with  poetry.  The 
best  of  it  seizes  a single  trait,  and  with  it  links  some 
human  emotion.  You  can’t  catalogue  in  verse,  as 
Walt  Whitman  does.” 

“My  dear  old  Walt!”  said  Lyndsay.  “I  am 
thankful  for  what  he  gives,  and  do  not  quarrel  with 
what  he  does  not.  I am  inclined  to  think  that  he 
will  outlive  some  of  his  seeming  betters.  I have 
been  more  than  once  struck,  in  talking  with  him,  by 
his  entire  unconsciousness  of  the  fact  that,  while  he 
believed  himself  to  be  the  poet  of  the  masses,  he 
found  his  only  readers  among  the  most  cultivated 
class.” 

“ Could  I read  him  ? You  said  once  that  I could 
not,”  said  Rose. 

“ He  is  hardly  pueris  et  virginibusque , my  dear ; but 
his  later  editions  are  fairly  expurgated  of  what  had 
as  well  never  been  written.  Anne  will  give  you  his 
great  poem, ‘ The  Dream  of  Columbus/  and  4 The  Con- 
vict/ and  ‘My  Captain/  and  ‘When  Lilacs  Bloom.’ 
A friend  of  North’s  once  gave  Walt,  through  him,  a 
check  which  he  much  needed,  asking  in  return  an 
autograph  copy  of  ‘My  Captain.’  He  took  the  gift 
with  entire  simplicity,  and  sent  two  copies  of  that 
noble  verse.  He  was  the  most  innocently  and  en- 
tirely vain  creature  I ever  knew.  The  perfect  story 
of  his  vanity  will,  I fancy,  never  be  written.  It  was 
past  belief.” 

“ What  a fine  head  he  had  a few  years  ago,”  said 
Anne. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


275 


“ Yes  5 he  was  a great  big  child,  and  he  looked  then 
like  the  Greek  busts  of  Jove.” 

“ He  should  always  be  read  aloud,”  returned  Anne, 
“ and  read,  too,  with  a little  contribution  of  rhyth- 
mical flattery.  If  I were  Mr.  Ellett,  I would  say, 
‘Now,  that  is  n’t  at  all  a bad  remark.’” 

“You  appear  to  have  said  so,  Aunt  Anne.” 

“I  have.  If  I were  a poet,  I would  set  over  my 
verses,  ‘ Read  this  aloud  ’ ; or,  ‘ Read  this  to  your- 
self ’ ; or,  ‘ To  be  read  under  a tree  over  a woman’s 
shoulder’;  or,  ‘With  a pipe  in  autumn.’” 

“ What  a nice  idea,  aunty ! When  you  were  talk- 
ing just  now  of  the  use  of  natural  descriptions,  I 
meant  to  tell  you  what  Mr.  Carington  said.” 
“Well.” 

“ He  said  it  seemed  to  him  a fine  and  artful  thing 
in  Shakspere  to  set  amidst  the  crime  of  Macbeth  all 
that  prettiness  about  innocent  nature ; the  descrip- 
tion of  the  martlets  and  the  castle,  you  know.” 

“ It  is  true,”  said  Anne.  “ It  is  quite  true.  Does 
the  young  man  talk  well?  I am  not  sure  that  his 
remark  is  new ; but  no  matter.  How  little  of  one’s 
talk  can  be  that!” 

“ I thought  he  talked  fairly  well.  He  did  not  say 
it  was  his  own  thought.” 

“ No  matter.  It  is  ben  trovato .” 

“ I think  it  was  his  own,”  said  Rose. 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ How  the  smoke  still  thickens,  papa ! And  the 
water  is  now  a green  bronze.” 

“Yes,  and  the  sun — Here  is  my  word-sketch: 
‘ Eleven  a.  m.  Sun  over  and  back  of  me.  Air  full 


276  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

of  smoke.  Hills  a delicate,  airy  blue.  Sun  orange-red, 
with  a blur  of  yellow  around  it.  All  shadows  on  gray 
sand  a faint  green.  Delicate  opalescence  on  smooth, 
slightly  rippled  water.  Deep  purple  reflections  of 
dead  trees.  Sense  of  strangeness  — of  mystery.’” 

“ That  is  almost  as  good  as  a picture,  Pardy.” 

“ At  early  morning  here,”  he  went  on,  “ the  river- 
bed is  full  of  mist.  The  combination  of  this  with 
smoke  gives  some  very  weird  effects.  If  we  have  a 
bright  yellow  sunset  this  evening,  the  dead  trees  on 
the  hilltops  will  be  of  a pure  orange  tint.” 

“I  shall  imagine  the  morning  colors,”  said  Rose. 
“ I am  like  the  salmon.  How  they  are  rising  now ! ” 
“Yes;  and  so  is  my  appetite.  Shall  we  go?  It 
will  be  lunch-time  before  we  get  back.” 

“ And  this  is  our  last  Sunday  on  the  river  for  this 
year,”  said  Rose. 

“ And  perhaps  my  last  for  all  years,”  thought  Anne; 
yet  what  she  said  was  this : 

“I  have  been  trying  to  make  out,  Archie,  why 
water  is  such  a lovely  thing.  Why  is  it?” 

“I  don’t  know.” 

“Nor  I.  It  is  the  one  thing  in  nature  which  has 
moods  for  me, — I mean  many  moods.  Then  it  is  the 
one  natural  thing  which  has  something  like  laughter.” 
“ Time  writes  no  wrinkles,  etc.,”  cried  Rose. 

“ And  it  has  no  memory  or  record  of  its  works.  Is 
that  part  of  its  seeming  joyousness?  And  never  — 
never  is  in  straight  lines.” 

“ Rather  obvious  that,  Anne.” 

“ But  it  was  n’t  obvious  to  me  a half-hour  ago.  I 
am  pleased  with  my  discovery.  Don’t  tell  me  Ruskin 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOOLS  ARE  GREEN  277 


has  said  it.  I know  he  has  not,  or  if  he  has,  he  had 
no  business  to  have  said  it,  and  you  can’t  patent 
ideas.” 

“ But  Anne  — ” Lyndsay  began. 

“ Don’t,  Archie.  I am  not  to  be  contradicted  to- 
day.” 

“ I was  going  to  agree  with  you  ” ; and  he  laughed. 
“ May  not  a fellow  even  agree  with  you  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  if  he  agreeably  agrees  with  me.  There 
are  — oh,  there  are  hateful  ways  of  agreeing  with 
people.” 

Then  Rose  was  about  to  mention  Mr.  Carington’s 
use  of  the  word  agreeable,  but  refrained,  she  did  not 
know  why.  She  caught  the  words  about  to  issue  out, 
and  put  them  back  into  a corner  of  silence,  and  did 
say: 

“ What  you  say,  Aunt  Anne,  of  water  reminds  me 
of  what  Mr.  W.  said  about  a picture,  last  spring,  of 
great  war-ships  coming  through  a mist  toward  us. 
It  was  rather  fine.  But  the  water  was  set  in  such 
stiff,  orderly  billows  that  Mr.  W.  said,  i Yes,  Britan- 
nia certainly  has  been  ruling  the  waves.’  ” 

“ I had  forgotten  it,”  said  Anne.  “ Now  I remem- 
ber that  our  English  friend  did  not  capture  the 
meaning.” 

“ Oh,  no.  Really,  Pardy,  it  sometimes  makes  life 
hard  in  England,  this  sort  of  inaptitude  to  turn  with 
quick  apprehension  from  grave  to  gay.” 

“ It  would  suit  your  mama.  I am  not  sure  that  I 
like  our  unending  tendency  to  see  things  or  put 
things  in  ridiculous  aspects  — no,  not  just  ridicu- 
lous,— help  me  to  a word  ; not  funny,  either, — some- 
18* 


278  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

where  among  the  lost  words,  the  verbal  refuse-heaps 
of  Old  English,  there  must  be  the  word  I want.” 

“We  know  what  you  mean,”  said  Anne.  “I  agree 
with  you.  Our  newspapers  are  every  day  painfully 
funny  for  me.  To  deal  all  the  time  with  the  serious 
so  as  perpetually  to  make  it  seem  trifling  by  putting 
it  in  comic  guises  is  to  damage  one’s  true  sense  of 
humor.” 

“And  of  the  serious,  which  is  worse,”  said  Lyndsay. 

“And,  Archie,  I don’t  like  the  constant  misuse  of 
words  it  brings  about.  I don’t  like  to  lose  respect 
for  words.  I don’t  like  their  characters  taken  away, 
so  as  to  unfit  them  for  their  next  place.  Words  have 
duties.” 

“ That  is  all  true,  Anne ; but  if  we  begin  to  abuse 
newspapers,  we  shall  never  get  home.  And  they  are 
so  infallible,  confound  them! — an  absolutely  honest 
confession  that  they  have  told  what  was  not  true  is 
the  last  thing  you  can  get  out  of  them.  The  editor 
who  would  not  contradict  a false  paragraph  as  to  a 
man’s  death  is  a good  example  : he  offered  to  put  in 
a statement  of  the  man’s  birth ! Let  us  go  home.” 

Laughing,  they  pushed  off,  and,  soon  lapsing  into 
silence,  slid  away  down  the  dancing  rapids,  under  an 
ever  dimmer  sunshine,  as  the  smoke  grew  more  and 
more  dense.  Now  and  then  Lyndsay  saw  something 
to  remember  in  wood  or  water,  and  made  brief  note 
of  it.  He  had  a mind  some  day  to  make  a small 
book  about  word-sketching.  Probably  he  would 
never  do  it;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  pet  our  little  en- 
terprises, until,  maturing  in  thought,  they  get  too 
large  for  the  mother-lap. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  279 


Rose  watched  the  amber  waters,  and  then,  furtively, 
the  Island  Camp,  where  was  noontide  quiet,  and  no 
man  in  sight. 

The  two  canoes  were  held  together  as  they  ran 
down-stream,  and  only  now  and  then  a guiding  pad- 
dle was  used. 

“ You  have  had  a nice  little  nap,”  said  Lyndsay. 

"I  have,”  said  Anne.  “I  am  the  only  person  I 
know  who  will  admit  to  having  slept  in  daylight.  I 
slept  little  last  night,  and  — is  n’t  it  droll?  — I took 
just  now  into  my  sleep  a queer  little  bit  of  the 
Orient.  I think  it  is  rare  to  carry  one’s  thoughts 
with  one  unbroken  into  the  land  of  dreams.  But  I 
did,  and  I went  on  dreaming  of  it.” 

“ What  was  it,  aunty  ? ” 

“Only  some  stuff  out  of  the  ‘Legenda  Aureata.’ 
It  would  not  interest  you.” 

“Anne  ! ” “Aunty  ! ” they  cried.  “ It  used  to  be  El 
Din  Attar,  and  Hafiz.  Now  it  is  the  1 Talmud  ’ or 
the  L Golden  Legends.’  You  are  a horrid  humbug,” 
added  Lyndsay. 

“You  are  a dear,  sweet,  altogether  nice  humbug,” 
said  Rose.  “ What  was  it  ? ” 

“ Then  listen,  children.  When  Adam  and  Eve 
were  turned  out  of  Eden,  they  could  get  no  sleep, 
because  of  their  tears  — for  when  tears  part  the  lids 
what  man  may  slumber?  Therefore  all  night  long 
they  complained.  After  awhile  the  birds  flew  up  to 
heaven  and  said,  ‘We  have  done  no  wrong,  neither 
have  we  eaten  of  the  tree,  nor  do  we  know  good  from 
evil.  Yet  these  two  keep  us  awake  with  their  cries.’ 
Then  the  Christ  came  down  to  help  them,  and,  com- 


280  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

ing  to  Adam,  said,  ‘What  is  there  thou  wilt  give 
God  for  sleep  ?’  And  Adam  said,  ‘We  have  but  one 
thing  left  us : we  will  give  love.’  And  the  Christ 
said,  ‘ It  is  enough.  Forasmuch  as  even  the  kings  of 
the  earth  receive  no  gift  without  returning  a better, 
therefore  for  thy  love  thou  shalt  have  God’s  larger 
love  and  also  sleep.’  So  the  man  and  the  woman 
slept,  and  the  birds  had  rest.  And  it  was  said  later, 
‘ He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep.’  ” 

“ Is  n’t  it  pretty,  papa  ? ” 

“ Rather.  But,  Anne  — ” 

“ I am  sleepy,”  she  said.  “ By-by,”  and  she  pushed 
their  canoe  away.  “ Let  go,  Pierre ; I want  to  go  to 
sleep  again.” 

“ Was  it  out  of  some  book,  Pardy  ? ” 

“ Gracious,  Rose,  how  do  I know?” 


CHAPTER  XXII 


l HE  Sunday  stillness  of  the  Island 
Camp  was  broken  by  lunch,  and 
after  it  Ellett  thought  he  would  go 
down  to  call  on  the  Lyndsays,  and 
perhaps  Fred  might  like  to  go  with 
him.  But  Fred  had  letters  to  write 
— he  was  too  lazy  — he  wished  to  finish  a novel. 
However,  he  wrote  a note  to  Mr.  Lyndsay,  to  say 
that  on  Thursday  he  meant  to  go  down  the  river  to 
Mackenzie  to  see  a man  about  a cabin  he  desired  to 
have  built  on  the  Island,  and  would  call  to  ask  if  Mr. 
Lyndsay  still  wished  him  to  have  a check  cashed  at 
the  bank,  in  order  to  pay  his  men.  Also,  he  could 
then  arrange  for  the  tickets  and  sleeping-car  accom- 
modations Mr.  Lyndsay’s  family  needed  on  their  re- 
turn. And  thus,  having  secured  the  absence  of  Ellett, 
he  saw  him  depart,  and  for  an  hour  or  more  smoked, 
and  diligently  struggled  with  a book  by  a sadly  liters 
ary  woman  who  was  contributing  her  feeble  ferment 
of  doubts  to  enliven  the  summer  moods  of  man  and 
maid.  At  last  he  rose,  pitching  the  book  across  the 
tent,  and  said  aloud: 

“ There  was  a young  woman  of  Boston, 

A blanket  of  doubts  she  was  tossed  on; 

Four  fiends  who  were  scorners 
281 


282  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Jftfk 

Had  clutch  of  the  corners. 

They  tossed  her  so  high 

That  she  stayed  in  the  sky, 

And  doubts  the  existence  of  Boston. 

I forget  the  other  nine  verses.  Michelle,  halloa ! Put 
me  across ! ” 

“ Pshaw  ! ” he  exclaimed,  as  he  strode  through  the 
summer  woods.  “ I hate  books  which  land  you  in  the 
country  of  nowhere.”  And  he  thought,  smiling,  of 
the  famous  Eastern  tale  of  the  caliph  and  the  phil- 
osopher: “Who  are  you?”  said  Haroun.  “I  don’t 
know.”  “ Where  are  you  going ? ” “I  don’t  know.” 
“ Where  are  you  from ? ” “I  don’t  know.  I write 
books;  what  about  is  for  him  that  readeth  to  dis- 
cern. To  know  nothing  is  the  Path  of  Negation  by 
which  you  attain  knowledge  of  the  infinite  Nothing.” 
“ Then,”  said  the  caliph,  “ in  the  language  of  El  Din 
Attar,  ‘ One  serious  conviction  is  better  than  armies 
of  denial : more  wholesome  is  it  to  believe  in  Satan 
than  to  deny  God.’  In  order  that  thou  mayest  abide 
on  the  seat  of  wisdom  for  a week  and  acquire  one 
earthly  certainty,  thou  shalt  have  the  bastinado ! ” 
“ Where  did  I read  that  stuff  ? ” he  thought,  and  went 
along,  humming  snatches  of  song,  his  own  or  others, 
for  he  scribbled  a little,  and  had  some  musical  touch 
of  the  light  grace  of  the  song ; but  “ intended  no 
monuments  of  books.” 

The  woods  soon  brought  back  to  him  the  mood  of 
contentment,  which  is  one  of  their  many  mysteries. 
The  most  delightful  possibilities  are  those  which 
never  occur,  and  of  these  the  woods  are  full.  The 
delicate  sense  of  something  about  to  happen  began 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  283 


to  possess  Carington.  He  went  on  his  way,  smiling, 
and  now  and  then  stood  still  to  touch  a tree,  or 
notice  some  unusual  giant,  or  to  note  some  singu- 
larity of  limb  or  bole. 

An  hour  or  more  of  sharp  walking  brought  him 
to  the  cabin  of  the  Maybrooks.  It  was  closed.  He 
passed  around  it,  and  saw  no  sign  of  its  inhabitants. 
He  knocked  and  got  no  reply.  Then  he  said  a 
naughty  word,  and  went  and  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  well  and  reflected.  He  was  more  disappointed 
than  he  felt  willing  to  admit.  By  and  by  he  acquired 
wisdom,  and  went  to  the  brook,  where  would  have 
been  the  grilse  if  Rose  and  her  attendant  had  come 
and  gone.  Seeing  no  fish  lying  in  this  cool  larder, 
he  felt  better  and  went  back  to  the  well.  There 
doubt  awaited  him  with  the  possibility  of  Dory 
having  gone  to  the  Cliff  Camp,  which  would  have 
made  needless  Miss  Rose’s  intended  visit.  He  had 
been  stupid  in  not  anticipating  this  contingency.  At 
least  he  would  wait  awhile. 

And  now  there  was  a sudden  gleam  far  away 
among  the  trees,  unseen  by  this  young  man  who  was 
gazing  down  into  the  cool  depths  of  the  well.  Had 
he  looked  that  other  way  this  flutter  of  color  in  the 
trampled  ox-road  would  soon  have  become  to  him  a 
pink  muslin  gown.  The  wearer  carried  a basket  in 
her  right  hand,  and  in  the  left,  swinging  it  gaily  as 
she  walked,  a broad  straw  hat.  At  the  wood  skirt 
she  paused  to  change  her  burden  to  the  less  tired 
hand, — for  she  had  been  of  a mind  to  come  alone, 
and  now  found  her  five-pound  fish  to  have  gained  in 
weight.  As  she  looked  up,  she  was  aware  of  Mr. 


284  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  AKE  GREEN 


Carington  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  well,  his  back 
toward  her.  He  was  singing: 

Oh,  merry  7t  is  in  proud  La  Moine, 

I hear  my  glad  heart  sing ; 

The  flag  is  up,  the  fleet  is  safe, 

And  the  blessed  church-bells  ring. 

Oh,  here  ?s  a kiss,  and  there 's  a kiss, 

For  you,  good  northern  wind, 

That  brought  our  fishers  home  again, 

For  you  left  no  soul  behind. 

And  here ’s  a kiss,  and  there  ’s  a kiss, 

Because  my  heart  is  glad; 

And  there  be  twenty  dozen  left, 

And  my  sweet  sailor  lad. 

He  sang  with  little  art,  but  with  every  word  clear, 
and  as  a man  alone  sings  for  company  of  sound. 

Rose  stood  still  and  heard  it  out,  liking  it,  but 
hesitated  a little,  half  hid  behind  a huge  pine, — a 
pleasant  picture  of  a maiden  struck  shy  of  a sudden. 
What  had  happened?  There  is  a little  timepiece 
which  Cupid  winds  up.  It  ticks  quietly,  and  by  and 
by  strikes  a fateful  hour,  or  we  take  it  out  to  see 
how  goes  the  enemy,  and  behold!  it  is  to-morrow. 
Love  is  the  fool  of  time. 

Rose  stood  a moment,  as  I have  said,  not  forty  feet 
away,  a little  inclined  to  retreat, — aware  that,  if  de- 
tected, this  would  mean  something,  she  knew  not 
what.  At  last,  seeing  the  need  of  action,  she  made  a 
strategic  movement  to  left,  and  said,  “ Are  you  look- 
ing for  Truth?” 

u Good  heavens  ! Miss  Lyndsay,”  and  he  rose  from 
his  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  well.  The  prettiness  of 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  285 


the  picture  struck  him  as  Rose  came  forward:  the 
pink  gown,  fresh  from  the  looms  of  fairy-land,  set 
fair  against  the  greenwood  spaces,  the  faint  excess  of 
color  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  look  of  unconsciousness 
which  goes  surely  with  natural  distinction  of  carriage. 

u Did  you  come  up  out  of  Mother  Earth  ? Are  you 
sure  it  is  you  ? ” 

“I  am.  I came  over  to  give  my  grilse  to  Mrs. 
Maybrook.” 

u Our  grilse,  you  remember.” 

“I  do  not;  but  it  is  no  matter.  I came  to  give 
Dorothy  the  grilse.” 

u She  is  not  at  home.  Let  me  take  the  basket.  I 
will  put  it  in  the  brook.  Did  you  carry  it  ? ” 

“ I did.  It  weighs —I  assure  you — twenty  pounds ! 
I must  see  it  bestowed.”  And  she  followed  him  into 
the  wood  along  a narrow  path  to  a basin  of  brown 
water.  The  stream  crawled  forth  here  from  under  a 
fallen  tamarack,  and  seemed  to  hesitate  a little  in  the 
pool  below.  Then  it  gathered  decision  for  flight, 
and  leaped  out,  tripping  across  the  tangled  roots  as  it 
went.  Carington  laid  the  fish  in  the  water,  and  two 
stones  upon  it. 

“ It  is  cooler  here  than  outside,”  he  said.  “ Dorothy 
will  be  back  in  a little  while.” 

After  this  outrage  on  truth,  he  added : 

“ I came  over  to  pay  my  milk-bill.” 

Then  Rose,  of  a sudden  remembering  what  she  had 
said  the  day  before  as  to  this  errand  of  hers,  became 
at  once  conscious  of  being  in  the  country  of  a pleas- 
ant enemy.  Therefore  she  made  a neutral  remark 
as  she  looked  about  her : 


286  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 
“ How  pretty  it  is  here ! ” 

“It  is  prettier  a little  way  up,  where  the  spring 
comes  out  under  a rock.” 

“ I should  like  to  see  it,  but  I must  go.  I have  no 
time  to  spare.  I must  go  home.  I have  so  much  of 
nothing  to  do  here,  and  there  is  nothing  takes  so 
much  time  as  doing  nothing  ! ” 

“ That  is  more  mysterious  than  my  little  spring. 
Do  come.  It  is  only  a step.” 

“ If  it  is  really  only  a step.”  And  she  went  with 
him,  as  he  answered: 

“Yes,  almost  literally.” 

He  put  aside  the  bushes,  and  ten  feet  away  came 
where,  from  under  a broad,  mossy  stone,  a gush  of 
water  broke  forth  with  a brisk  air  of  liking  it.  She 
stood  still,  pleased  with  that  she  saw. 

“ The  dear,  sweet,  little  thing ! ” she  cried. 

“It  seems  glad  to  get  out,”  he  said.  “Perhaps  it 
has  some  strange  craving  for  sunshine;  and  think 
what  a journey  underground  in  the  darkness,  like  a 
soul  in  prison.” 

“ Go  on,”  she  said,  still  looking  down,  and  consider- 
ing the  fine  wholesomeness  of  its  untainted  life. 

“How  it  got  a little  help  here,  and  strength  there, 
and  climbed  up  from  under  the  bases  of  the  hills,  and 
of  a sudden  found  light  and  voice  and  purpose,  and 
goes  on  its  way,  not  minding  obstacles.  Pretty,  is  n’t 
it  ? It  seems  so  eager.” 

“Yes.  I wonder  will  the  sea  answer  its  riddle.” 
It  was  a quite  alarming  little  parable  to  this  quick- 
witted young  woman.  “ How  it  hurries ! And  it 
reminds  me  I too  must  be  going.  It  says,  4 Come.’  ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


287 


“ Does  it,  indeed  ? But  it  does  not  say,  i Go.7  77 

“I  am  so  sorry  I have  missed  Dorothy 

“You  might  give  her  a few  moments.  She  will 
not  be  long.  I shall  have  to  c bide/  as  she  says.  I 
came  to  pay  my  milk-bill.  Pray  consider  my  melan- 
choly prospect  if  I have  to  stay  here  by  myself  ! 77 

“Certainly  a sad  trial/7  she  said,  smiling;  “but  I 
really  must  go.77  She  began  to  move  back  again  to- 
ward the  pool. 

“ Does  she  know  you  meant  to  leave  the  grilse  ? It 
will  spoil  if  it  is  not  cleaned.  Grilse  spoil  so  easily.77 

It  was  difficult  for  mendacity  to  go  beyond  this 
latter  statement. 

“ I am  sorry,  but  I can  leave  a note  in  the  doorway. 
Yes,  I have  a card,  by  good  luck.  Have  you  a pencil  ? 77 

This  time  he  achieved  the  lie  direct,  and  said,  “No! 
but  it  is  near  milking-time,  and  Hiram  will  be 
‘p7inted7  this  way  of  a certainty.77 

“ I really  cannot  wait.  What  time  is  it  ?77 

“ How  late  it  is ! 77  he  replied,  glancing  at  his  watch. 
“ I had  not  the  least  idea  it  was  so  late.  They  ought 
to  be  here  now.  It  is  half -past  five.77 

There  was  good  judgment  in  this  fib.  If  he  made 
it  early  she  would  not  think  it  worth  while  to  wait, 
and  if  very  late,  she  would  be  sure  to  go  at  once. 

“ Indeed ! Only  half -past  five ! I will  rest  a few 
minutes.77 

“ Better  sit  down/7  he  said.  She  took  her  place  on 
a rock,  while  he  cast  himself  down  at  her  feet,  divid- 
ing the  ferns  as  he  lay.  She  felt  that  she  had  been 
infirm  of  purpose.  He  gave  her  no  time  to  analyze 
her  weakness. 


288  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ You  are  very  good  not  to  leave  me  in  the  naughty 
company  of  myself.” 

“ It  is  not  goodness  at  all : it  is  self-indulgence.  I 
am  a little  tired ; that  fish  was  very  heavy.  But  you 
have  not  told  me  what  you  were  looking  for  in  the 
well.” 

“ What  do  you  folks  look  for  in  a well  ? ” he  asked, 
in  turn. 

“ Truth,  I suppose.  Was  that  what  you  were  look- 
ing for  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“And  did  not  find  it.” 

“ I shall.” 

“ There  is  more  water  here,”  she  said,  laughing, 
and  then  could  have  bitten  her  wicked  tongue. 

“Ah  ! we  don’t  look  for  it  in  shallow  waters.  There 
must  be  quiet  for  reflection.” 

“Indeed!  What  were  you  singing  about?”  she 
added,  abruptly.  “ What  is  ‘ La  Moine 7 ? I caught 
the  name.” 

“ I am  glad  you  asked.  On  the  coast  near  to  Bar 
Harbor  there  is  a little  fishing-town,  La  Moine.  The 
cod-fishers  go  out  in  a fleet  from  its  small  port  in 
June,  to  the  banks.  The  voyage,  and,  in  fact,  the 
whole  life  at  sea  of  these  brave  fellows,  is  full  of 
peril.  When  the  home-bound  fleet  is  sighted,  the 
people  go  to  the  beach,  and  a lookout  stays  in  the 
church-steeple.  If  he  sees  no  flag  flying  from  the 
nearest  smack,  it  means  that  one  or  more  men  have 
been  lost,  and  then  the  bells  are  silent.  But  if  he 
sees  the  signal  flag,  all  is  well : there  has  been  no  life 
lost,  and  the  bells  ring  out  merrily.77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  289 


“ What  a pretty  story ! Tell  me  more,  as  the  chil- 
dren say.  It  sounds  like  a bit  of  Brittany.  It  is  the 
girl  who  sings  ? ” 

“ Yes.  A girl  — the  girl.” 

“Who  made  the  verses?  Where  did  you  find 
them  ? ” 

“A  local  poet,”  and  he  smiled. 

“ Yourself  ? ” 

“ Yes ; when  I get  away  from  my  work  my  brain  is 
apt  to  run  on  such  stuff.” 

“ Oh,  I like  them.  Won’t  you  copy  them  for  me  ? ” 
“You  ask  too  much.  But  what  am  I to  have  in 
return  ? ” 

“ The  pleasure  of  obliging  me.” 

“ Good ! You  shall  have  them.” 

“ Thank  you.  Aunt  Anne  will  like  the  story,  and 
Dorothy — it  is  strange  how  easily  that  woman  is 
interested.  Don’t  you  like  her  ? ” 

“Yes,  very  much.  But,  then,  we  are  rather  old 
friends.  I was  not  here  last  year,  and  this  year 
I find  Hiram  a good  deal  changed.  It  seems  as 
though  Fate  had  dealt  hardly  with  Dorothy.  She 
has  so  much  tact,  such  natural  good  manners,  and 
you  would  smile  if  I said  distinction.” 

“No,  I should  not.  It  is  a word  which  has  ac- 
quired a fine  flavor,  and  is  well  applied  here.  I am 
always  tempted  to  feel  sorry,  when  with  her,  that  she 
must  always  have  this  narrow  life.” 

“ I do  not  think  the  idea  ever  occurred  to  her.” 

“ Possibly  not.  She  is  by  nature  contented,  and  a 
source  of  contentment,  which  is  more  rare.” 

“ That  is  true.  I never  see  her  without  feeling 

19 


290  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

that  I have  gained  something.  She  is  in  a real  sense 
influential.” 

“ It  seems  odd,  or  perhaps  it  is  not,  hut  she  has  the 
same  effect  upon  me.  I hardly  fancy  that  in  her 
class  you  could  find  this  creature  repeated.” 

“ She  has  a similar  effect  on  Ellett,  and  human 
nature  does  not  repeat  itself.  I mean  that  even  the 
type  is  rare.  It  is  purely  natural,— owes  little  to  the 
education  of  events.” 

“ Yes,  rare  in  all  classes,  I should  say.  My  Aunt 
Anne  is  in  some  ways  queerly  like  Dorothy.” 

“ Indeed?” 

“As  I am  like  Jack.  You  may  smile, — I am.  Yes, 
and  that  makes  me  think  of  J ack.  Poor  fellow ! he 
fancies  you  utterly  despise  him.” 

“No?  Does  he?  I will  ask  him  to  go  after  a hear 
with  me.  I was  quite  too  rough  with  him,  but  really 

However,  I do  not  want  to  talk  about  that 

horrid  morning.  I thought  he  was  splendidly  cour- 
ageous and  equally  outrageous.” 

“ There  is  courage  and  courage.” 

“Yes,  of  course.  It  admits  of  analysis.  I am  often  a 
coward  my  self  5 1 am  desperately  afraid  of  some  things.” 
“Of  what?”  she  said,  smiling. 

“ I will  tell  you  some  day.  It  is  not  well  to  tell  a 
woman  everything ; one  loses  interest  as  one  satisfies 
curiosity.”  He  was  on  thin  ice  now, — hut  ice  it  was, 
as  he  found  out,— what  Jack  would  have  called  tickly 
benders. 

“I  have  no  curiosity, — none  at  all.  I think  I must 
go,”  she  said.  “I  really  must  go,”  and  she  rose, 
adding,  “ There  is  Dorothy,  at  last.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


291 


He  was  as  much  relieved  as  she.  He  had  seen  hut 
little  of  this  young  woman,  and  his  reason  told  him 
clearly  enough  that  he  had  been  near  the  crumbling 
brink  of  folly,  and  that  he  had  better  be  careful. 
He  also  rose,  and  they  went  over  to  the  cabin,  where 
Dorothy  greeted  them.  It  was  not  possible  for  a 
person  as  shrewd  as  Dorothy,  knowing  what  had 
passed  on  the  beach  with  the  bear,  not  to  have  some 
notion  of  what  it  might  lead  to  in  the  future.  She 
had  in  her  a fine  feminine  spice  of  romance.  Now 
she  said,  in  her  quiet  way,  “ Good  afternoon ! Did 
you  happen  to  meet  my  Hiram  ?” 

“ No,”  said  Carington. 

“ I brought  you  a grilse,  Mrs.  Maybrook.  It  is  in 
the  pool.” 

“ I am  that  obliged  to  you.  Guess  I ’ll  smoke  it,  if 
it  is  n’t  too  big.  Come  in.  I just  pulled  some  roses 
for  Miss  Anne.  I ’ve  got  them  inside.  You  might 
take  them  along.  I ’ll  have  to  look  up  Hiram.  Come 
in.”  They  followed  her. 

“ Here  is  your  money  for  the  milk,”  said  Carington, 
“ and  very  good  milk  it  is.” 

“My  old  cow  ought  to  have  her  share,  but  she 
won’t.  I guess  we  none  of  us  know  when  we  get  our 
fairings.  She  won’t  know  any  more  than  the  rest  of 
us.  Did  you  walk  down,  Mr.  Carington?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Come  by  Joe  Colkett’s  ? ” 

“ No ; I took  the  lower  road.” 

“ He  was  here  yesterday.  You  would  n’t  guess  in 
a week  of  Sundays  what  for.  He  wants  to  put  a 
wooden  slab  over  those  poor  children, — just  to  please 


292  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

that  hag.  And  he  asked  me  to  print  it  for  him, — I 
mean,  what  will  do  for  the  inscription.  I tell  you  I 
was  puzzled.  I want  you  to  see  if  it  is  all  right.  He 
can’t  read  a word.  You  see,  he  means  to  copy  it, 
and  then  to  please  the  woman  with  it.” 

“ How  sad  that  is ! ” said  Rose.  “And  he  really 
cares  for  her?” 

“ I should  think  he  did ! That ’s  the  worst  of  it.” 

“ The  worst  of  it  ? Why  ? ” 

“Oh,  she  is  n’t  a woman  to  keep  a man  straight. 
She ’d  have  to  begin  with  herself,  way  back,  too.” 
Then  she  added,  “Who  was  the  woman  Macbeth, — 
Lady  Macbeth  ? ” 

“ One  of  Shakspere’s  characters,”  said  Carington. 

“ I should  like  well  to  read  about  her.” 

“She  ‘ pointed ’ her  man  wrong,  I can  tell  you,” 
laughed  Rose.  “ I can  lend  you  the  book.” 

“ Now,  can  you  ? Don’t  forget.  There ’s  the  writ- 
ing. I am  rather  proud  of  it.”  They  both  consid- 
ered it  gravely. 

“ You  might  put  in  the  dates.” 

“Joe  says  ‘no.’  I guess  he  thinks  it  will  make  too 
much  work.” 

“ How  strange ! ” said  Rose.  “And  the  text  is,  ‘ Of 
such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven.’  ” 

“Yes.  How  will  that  do?”  said  Dorothy.  “They 
were  a queer  lot,  those  children, — perfect  little  fiends, 
I called  them ; but  I suppose  there ’s  going  to  be  a 
pretty  well  mixed  up  party  in  that  other  world. 
Think  I ’d  like  to  choose  my  mansion.  It  would  n’t 
be  the  nursery.  Sakes  alive!  what  was  I saying?” 
Her  face  became  grave,  with  a look  of  yearning  ten- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


293 


derness  in  her  eyes.  “ Miss  Rose,  I ought  n’t  to  have 
said  that.  There  would  be  the  very  place  I should 
go  for  first  ; and  only  to  think  I might  not  get  in  ! 
Where  would  I be  then?  I tell  you,  Miss  Rose, 
you  ’ve  got  to  begin  pretty  early  with  your  tongue, 
if  you  want  to  make  it  keep  all  the  commandments.” 

Carington  smiled.  “I  fancy  dumb  folks  are  as 
bad  sinners  as  we.  After  all,  one  slanders  the 
tongue.  One  does  not  know  half  how  naughty  a 
thought  is  until  we  have  put  it  into  speech.” 

“ Lord  ! Mr.  Carington  ! There  ’s  a heap  of  wise- 
ness in  that  you  said.  Guess  I ’ll  be  set  up  about 
talking  after  that ! ” 

Here  she  took  up  her  half-dozen  roses,  nourished 
with  care  on  the  south  end  of  the  cabin,  which  Dor- 
othy had  whitewashed  to  get  more  heat  upon  the 
scanty  children  of  her  garden.  She  considered  them 
with  affectionate  care,  touching  a leaf  here  and  there, 
her  head  on  one  side. 

“ I guess  they  ’re  nice  enough,  even  for  Miss  Anne. 
Mind,  there  ’s  six  of  ’em.  Don’t  you  lose  any,  Miss 
Rose  ! ” 

“ Shall  I carry  them  ? ” said  Carington.  “And  the 
basket  ? Where  is  it  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I ’ll  smudge  that  a bit  to  get  the  fish  smell 
out,  and  I ’ll  fetch  it  to-morrow.  I ’m  coming  after 
Mrs.  Macbeth,  or  whatever  her  name  is.  No,  Miss 
Rose  is  to  take  the  bouquet.  They  ?re  sort  of  rela- 
tions, you  see.  Men  can’t  be  trusted  with  flowers, 
and  roses  are  scarce  up  here.” 

“You  might  ‘ p’int’ me,  Mrs.  Maybrook,”  said  Caring- 
ton, laughing,  as  he  followed  Rose  at  a little  distance. 

19*  * 


294  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Reckon  I ?m  too  old.”  And  she  stayed  in  the 
doorway  of  her  poor  little  home,  kindly,  by  no  means 
unhappy,  and  giving  the  benediction  of  a smile  to 
these  two  people  in  their  youth  of  health  and  pros- 
perity and  love.  “ I guess  he  ?s  pointed  already,”  she 
said,  as  she  stood. 

Rose  turned  at  the  wood-skirts,  and  nodded  good-by. 
The  parable  of  the  roses  had  been  by  no  means  meant 
as  such,  but  neither  the  maid  nor  the  man  at  her 
side  failed  to  capture  the  possibilities  of  its  meaning. 
They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a while,  she  with  a 
faint  hope  that  her  companion  had  not  been  as  ap- 
prehensive as  she,  and  he,  a little  amused,  and  with  a 
not  unpleasing  impression  as  to  the  slight  embarrass- 
ment which,  despite  her  training,  Rose  had  betrayed 
when  their  eyes  met  a moment  while  Dorothy  was 
speaking. 

“ How  silent  we  are,  Miss  Lyndsay ! ” he  said  at 
last.  He  might  have  taken  it  as  a sign  of  their  grow- 
ing intimacy. 

“And  do  you  object  to  that?  I like  it  sometimes. 
I like  that  about  the  well-bred  English.  They  talk  or 
not,  as  they  want  to.  We  seem  to  think  it  socially 
criminal  to  keep  quiet.  I like  to  feel  free  to  talk  or 
not  to  talk.” 

“And  are  you  not  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  she  said,  and  then  felt  that  the  little  mono- 
syllable was  more  or  less  an  admission,  and  so  there 
was  a yet  longer  silence.  But  one  may  be  silent  too 
long,  and  Rose  spoke : 

“What  you  said  to  Dorothy  made  me  think  of  a 
quotation  with  which  Aunt  Anne  puzzled  us  last 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  295 


night.  Her  quotations  and  my  dear  papa’s  Marc. 
Aurelius  we  are  always  doubtful  about.” 

“ What  was  it  ? ” 

“ 1 He  who  speaketh  out  the  evil  of  his  soul  is  at 
the  gate  of  wisdom.’  She  declined  to  explain  it,  and 
vowed  it  was  out  of  a Hindostanee  poem ; but  as  to 
this  you  need  never  quite  trust  Aunt  Anne.  I was  on 
the  point  of  quoting  it  just  now,  but  did  not,  because 
I fancied  Dorothy  might  not  understand  it.” 
u Do  you  ? ” 

“ No,”  she  laughed  ; “ not  I.” 

“ She  would  have  been  sure  to  say  something  droll. 
I wish  you  had  quoted  it.  I am  glad  you  do  not 
understand  it.  I do  not.  It  might  have  several 
meanings.  But  I don’t  like  vagueness  in  prose  or 
verse.  If  the  thought  is  worth  stating,  I think  it 
must  be  worth  the  trouble  of  stating  it  clearly.” 
“Pardy — I mean  papa — insists  that  vagueness  of 
language  always  means  mistiness  of  thinking.” 

“I  hardly  go  that  far.  There  are  many  explana- 
tions of  the  vague  in  statement.  A man  may  think 
with  decisive  sharpness  of  result,  and  be  quite  unable 
to  word  his  conclusions.  But  we  are  in  deep  waters.” 
“ Quite  too  deep.  As  to  quotations,  I like  to  think 
with  Aunt  Anne  that  they  are  all  in  the  dictionary, 
and  so  cease  to  bother  myself  with  the  source.” 

“ Assuredly  that  saves  trouble.  Ah,  here  is  the 
river,”  he  said.  “Am  I not  to  have  a rose  ? ” 

“ Is  that  a quotation,  Mr.  Carington  ? ” and  she 
laughed.  “ That  is  silly  enough  for  ball-room  talk.” 
“ It  has  been  said  pretty  often,  and  at  all  events  is 
not  vague.” 


296  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

• 

“ I am  not  sure  men  ought  ever  to  have  roses,”  she 
cried,  gaily  5 “ but,  as  I am  not  sure,  here  is  one.  I 
will  not  act  on  my  vagueness.” 

“ Thank  you.”  He  held  it  a moment,  and  then 
quietly  dropped  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  jacket,  not 
unperceived  by  Rose. 

“Ah,  here  is  my  boat,”  she  said ; “ good-by.”  As 
they  stood  on  the  bank,  she  looked  hastily  over  at 
the  cabin  and  saw  no  one  in  sight.  Then  she  stepped 
into  the  canoe,  where  Polycarp  sat  in  tranquil  pa- 
tience, and  the  young  man,  lifting  his  cap,  walked 
away  into  the  woods. 

Gay  comrade  thoughts  and  fancies  went  with  him 
on  the  way,  and,  light  of  heart,  he  guided  himself  by 
the  yellow  lanes  of  sunshine  which  lit  the  open  forest 
before  him.  Soon  he  found  the  lower  road,  and,  still 
smiling,  moved  on  more  slowly,  and  took  to  building 
castles  on  those  great  estates  in  Spain  to  which  he 
had  just  fallen  heir. 

“ Seen  my  cow,  Mr.  Carington  ? ” said  a voice,  a 
few  feet  behind  him,  and  the  sweet  prosperity  of 
fancy  was  gone.  It  was  Susan  Colkett  who  spoke. 
He  started.  He  had  heard  no  step,  as  she  came  out 
of  the  wood,  although  she  must  have  been  very  near. 

“ No  ; I saw  no  cow.  Is  yours  astray  ? ” 

“ Yes.  What  time  might  it  be  ? ” 

“ Six  o'clock,”  he  replied,  looking  at  his  watch. 

“Do  you  think  to  come  up  here  in  September,  sir? 
Joe  says  caribou 's  plenty  up  the  river.” 

Then  Carington  recalled  Mr.  Lyndsay's  warning, 
and  said,  “ It  is  hard  to  say  as  yet.  Most  likely  I 
shall  not.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  297 


“I  did  hear  there  ?s  bears  back  to  the  pond.  If 
you  was  minded  to  go  after  ?em,  Joe  he  ?d  like  to 
guide.  There  ain’t  no  better  hunter.” 

u I ’ll  see  about  it.  If  I want  him,  I shall  let  him 
know.  Good  night.”  And  he  left  her. 

After  walking  some  thirty  yards  he  looked  back. 
The  woman  was  standing  in  the  road,  tall,  angular, 
and  large,  a long  crooked  stick  in  her  hand.  She 
was  watching  him,  but  instantly  moved  as  she 
caught  his  glance. 

“ Confound  it,”  he  muttered,  “ if  I believed  in  the 
evil  eye,  and  were  a good  Catholic,  I should  cross 
myself.” 

Then  he  tried  to  think  again  of  Rose  Lyndsay,  but, 
failing  to  command  the  return  of  his  broken  day- 
dream, he  went  on  more  swiftly,  and  once  or  twice 
turned -again,  with  inexplicable  unease,  to  look  back 
to  where  he  had  seen  the  figure  of  the  woman  set 
against  the  darkening  greenwood.  “ Pshaw!”  he 
exclaimed. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 


! HEN  on  her  return  Rose  went  into 
their  cabin  she  happened  to  glance 
at  the  clock.  Then  she  said : 

“ What  time  is  your  watch,  Annt 
Anne  ? ” Being  told,  and  discover- 
ing that  the  two  timekeepers  were 
unanimous  in  opinion,  she  smiled  a little,  and  went 
on  into  her  own  room.  Here  she  went  straight  to 
the  small  mirror  and — why,  who  shall  say? — in- 
spected herself  briefly,  saying,  aloud: 

“You  were  a rather  big  fool,  to-day,  Miss  Lynd- 
say,  and  next  time  you  will  have  your  own  watch.” 
Presently,  remembering  what  he  had  done  with  the 
rose,  she  concluded  that  men  were  hateful.  She  had 
seen  a good  deal  of  the  world,  and  had  had  her  full 
share  of  earnest  admiration  at  home  and  abroad,  so 
that  she  was  by  no  means  ignorant  as  to  the  cause  of 
the  gentle  tumult  in  her  bosom.  She  wanted  to  wish 
that  this  man  would  let  her  alone,  and  be  but  a 
friendly  and  pleasant  companion.  Also  she  more 
sincerely  desired  that  the  race  of  bears  had  been 
omitted  from  Noah’s  menagerie. 

At  last  she  made  her  toilet,  and  went  out  to  dinner, 
where  Dick  asked,  with  cruel  promptness,  why  she 
had  not  brought  that  big  Boston  man  over  to  dine. 

298 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GKREEN 


299 


u Because  I did  not  ask  him." 

“ That  ’s  not  a reason,  Rosy,"  said  Ned.  “ I wish 
he  had  come." 

“And  I don’t,"  remarked  Jack. 

“Why  not?"  said  Lyndsay,  coldly. 

Jack  flushed  as  he  caught  Anne’s  eye.  “ Oh,  you 
can’t  like  everybody." 

Anne  said,  in  a quiet  aside,  “ Jackey,  your  giants 
are  not  all  dead,"  and  he  was  silent. 

“ Mr.  Carington  was  at  Dorothy’s  when  I got  there. 
He  came  to  pay  for  the  milk  they  get.  By  the  way, 
papa,  he  told  me  to  say  that  on  Thursday  he  had  to 
go  to  Mackenzie,  and  that  he  would  call  as  he  went 
by  and  get  the  draft  you  wanted  cashed,  and  please 
to  leave  word  how  you  wanted  it.  Oh,  I forgot,  he 
said  afterward  that  you  could  tell  him  to-morrow 
night;  and,  Pardy,  he  wants  you  to  let  Jack  go  with 
him  on  Friday,  to  look  for  a bear  they  have  seen 
some  distance  back  of  the  camp,  above  the  burnt 
lands." 

Meanwhile  Anne  was  quietly  glancing  at  her  niece’s 
face.  Now  this  proposal  was  fire-hot  embers  to 
Master  Jack. 

“ Oh,  I can’t  go ! Hang  bears ! ’’  he  said. 

“ He  did  not  tell  me  to  tell  you,  Jack ; but  he  did 
say  he  had  been  hard  on  you,  and  I think  so,  too." 

And  now  Anne  Lyndsay  put  on  her  glasses. 

“ Well,  Jack,"  said  his  father,  “ how  is  it?" 

<(Am  I to  take  my  rifle,  Rose  ? " 

“ Yes,— I think  he  said  so." 

“ His  trust  in  this  family  must  be  large,"  said 
Lyndsay. 


300 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“Do  you  think  I ought  to  go?”  said  this  young 
hypocrite. 

“ Yes,  but  don’t  shoot  him ! ” 

And  now  Rose  was  dreadfully  aware  of  her  aunt’s 
inspection,  and  made  haste  to  add,  with  embarrass- 
ment more  felt  than  seen,  “ What  a budget ! Oh,  I 
quite  forgot,  Aunt  Anne,  I took  your  roses  into  my 
room.  Dorothy  gave  them  to  me  for  you.”  As  she 
spoke  she  left  the  table,  and,  returning,  put  the  flow- 
ers by  her  aunt.  “ I was  to  tell  you  there  were  only 
half  a dozen,”  and  here  she  made  a full,  though  brief, 
stop 5 “but  that  it  was  all  she  had.  She  seemed  to 
think  it  hardly  worth  while  sending  so  few.  You 
know  how  nice  she  is ; but,  dear  me,  I have  made 
a speech  of  congressional  length, — and  I am  so 
hungry ! ” 

In  fact  she  had  talked  at  the  last  with  accelerated 
speed,  having  made,  as  she  well  knew,  a sad  blunder 
into  undesirable  arithmetical  verities. 

And  now  Lyndsay  said,  “ It  was  very  kind  of  Car- 
ington.  You  must  be  quite  exhausted  by  the  carrying 
of  so  many  messages  ! ” 

“ It  is  n’t  all,”  said  Rose ; “ Mrs.  Maybrook  wishes 
to  borrow  the  book,  Pardy,  in  which  is  the  history  of 
Mrs.  Macbeth.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” he  returned  ; “ that  is  droll,”  and  fell 
to  thinking. 

Then  Mrs.  Lyndsay  said,  “ You  must  be  very  warm, 
dear : you  look  quite  overheated.” 

Here  Anne  let  drop  her  eye-glasses,  and  began  to 
consider  the  number  of  her  roses,  but  said  nothing. 

On  Monday,  after  a most  successful  day  on  the 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  301 


river,  in  which  both  camps  had  nearly  equal  good 
luck,  the  two  men  from  the  island  came  down  in  the 
evening,  through  a fine  moonlight,  to  the  lower 
camp.  They  were  now  in  that  easy  stage  of  acquain- 
tanceship with  the  Lyndsays  when  people  begin  to 
make  agreeable  discoveries  as  to  other  people  who 
are  common  friends. 

Carington  watched  his  chance  and  caught  Jack 
alone. 

“ You  are  going  with  me,  I hope?” 

“ Yes.  Papa  says  he  wants  me  to  go.” 

Carington  was  very  quick  to  catch  the  accent  of 
lingering  discontent. 

“ By  the  way,”  he  said,  “ I was  rather  sharp  on  you 
the  other  day.  I don’t  want  you  to  think  I thought 
you  did  quite  the  right  thing;  but  I liked  your 
pluck,  even  if  it  was  out  of  place,  and  I understood 
the  temptation.  Suppose  we  forget  it  all.  Be  ready 
on  Thursday  night  — pretty  late.  I shall  get  back 
here  by  eleven,  I hope,  and  will  pick  you  up.  I can 
give  you  a bed  and  a blanket,  and  early  Friday  we 
will  be  off  for  a day.  I can’t  promise  you  a bear, 
but  I think  we  shall  both  like  the  tramp.” 

“ I ’ll  be  ready,  and  I ’m  much  obliged,  too.” 

Jack  was  enchanted,  and  by  and  by  confided  to 
Rose  in  a corner  his  exalted  opinion  of  Mr.  Caring- 
ton, nor  was  he  altogether  satisfied  with  her  “ Oh, 
yes,  he  ’s  quite  a nice  kind  of  a man.” 

“You  were  to  have  seen,  Mr.  Ellett,  how  foolish 
we  can  be,”  said  Rose,  as  they  stood  by  the  door.  “ I 
also  promised  Mr.  Carington  that  experience.” 

“And  are  we  not  to  have  it,  after  all  ? ” 


302  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“No.  Papa  and  I had  arranged  some  very  neat 
situations  for  your  discomfiture ; but  papa  finally  de- 
cided that  they  were  too  difficult,  or  at  least  needed 
some  preparation.” 

“ But  I should  really  like  it.  I can  do  a little  at  it 
myself,  and  Fred  used  to  be  a very  clever  actor. 
But,  then,  he  does  so  many  things  well.  Do  you  do 
many  things  well  ? ” 

“Everything,”  said  the  young  woman.  “We  do 
everything  well  here  in  this  family,  even  to  liking 
our  friends  better  than  other  people  like  their 
friends.” 

“ Don’t  you  think  our  friends’  friends  are  often 
great  troubles  ? I think  a fellow’s  friends  ought  not 
to  have  any  friends.  That  is,  a man’s  friends  should 
not  be  the  friends  of  his  friends.  That  would  n’t  be 
so  bad  now,  would  it,  if  it  was  n’t  a bit  mixed  ? ” 

Hearing  Rose’s  merriment,  as  poor  Ellett  endea- 
vored to  untangle  his  sentence,  Anne  and  Carington 
turned  to  join  them. 

“ What  is  the  fun,  Oliver  ? ” said  Carington. 

“I  ’ve  made  an  overrun,”  said  Ellett.  “When  I 
try  to  talk  too  fast,  I am  very  apt  to  do  it.” 

“And  what  is  an  1 overrun  ’ ? ” asked  Anne 
Lyndsay. 

“ When  you  are  casting  for  striped  bass,  the  reel 
runs  very  easy,  and  the  bait  is  heavy,  and  if  you 
don’t  check  the  reel  with  a thumb,  as  the  line  runs 
out,  and  then  stop  it  as  the  bait  drops  on  the  sea,  the 
reel  runs  on,  and  the  line  gets  into  a tangle,  such  as 
is  really  unimaginable.  It  takes  hours  to  get  it  clear. 
Hence  Ellett’s  comparison.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  303 


“ That  is  a noble  idea,”  cried  Miss  Anne.  “An  in- 
tellectual overrun ! ” 

“ You  see,”  said  Ellett,  much  pleased,  “ everything 
is  underneath  that  ought  to  be  on  top,  and  the  inside 
of  the  line  gets  snarled  in  loops  of  the  outside,  and 
there  ’s  a sidewise  tangle,  and  — ” 

“Would  n’t  it  be  advisable  to  stop  at  this  point?” 
said  Fred. 

“Should  n’t  wonder.”  And  he  reflected  upon  the 
excellence  of  his  comparison. 

The  night  was  clear  and  pleasant,  and,  as  they 
talked,  they  went  out  and  sat  on  the  porch,  where 
presently  Lyndsay  joined  the  group. 

“Miss  Lyndsay,”  said  Carington,  “tells  us  you 
gave  up  the  plots.  I am  not  too  sorry.  How  do  you 
play  the  game  ? ” 

“Oh,  two  or  three  of  us  devise  situations,  and 
when  we  announce  them,  the  others  act  them.  It  is 
an  Italian  game,  I believe,  and  quite  amusing.  You 
may  treat  the  situations  seriously  or  lightly.  It  is 
easiest  to  keep  to  the  key-note  on  which  you  start, 
and  not  try  too  hard  to  be  funny.  Puns  and  quib- 
bles, coming  in  of  a sudden,  disturb  the  other  actor, 
unless  he  be  well  used  to  it.” 

“ I never  pun,”  said  Anne ; “ but  to  be  forbidden  I 
regard  as  an  invasion  of  human  rights.” 

“ Oh,  they  are  not  forbidden ! ” 

“Then  they  should  be,  except  to  Wendell  Holmes. 
Only  the  worst  puns  are  endurable.  When  Alice 
Fox  told  Dr.  North  his  horse  L Roland’  was  well 
named,  because  he  was  to  carry  good  news  to  Aix,  I 
considered  that  the  climax  of  verbal  murder.” 


304  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“No,  there  is  a worse  one,”  cried  Rose;  “but  that 
I shall  never,  never  tell.” 

“ Pardon  me,”  said  Carington,  “ was  not  Mrs.  Fox 
that  delightful  widow  with  the  pleasant  name, — I re- 
call it  now,  6 Westerley/  Mrs.  Westerley  ? There  was 
some  queer  story  about  her  wanting  to  marry  a 
country  doctor  who  came  to  grief,  or  did  some  queer 
things,  I forget  what.” 

“Yes;  she  married  Colonel  Fox,  at  last.” 

“ Married  once,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ engaged  once,  and 
at  last  lucky  enough  to  capture  that  fine  fellow. 
How  many  love-affairs  she  had  in  between — who 
shall  say  ? ” 

“And  a sweeter,  better  woman  never  was,”  returned 
Anne.  “I  could  explain  her  life;  but  I have  no 
mind  to  betray  the  secrets  of  my  sex.” 

“ She  attained  wisdom  at  last,”  said  Lyndsay,  “ for 
I heard  her  tell  Fox  once  that  married  men  should 
have  every  year  one  month  for  a bachelor  honey- 
moon.” 

As  they  laughed,  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  who  had  just  come 
onto  the  porch,  said,  “That  is  like  her;  but  I do 
think  it  is  only  an  echo  of  the  discontent  with  our 
decent,  old-fashioned  notions  as  to  marriage.  I hope, 
Rose—”  and  here  Mrs.  Lyndsay  stopped  short.  Anne 
looked  up. 

“The  recipe  seems  to  work  well.  They  are  very 
happy.  I propose  some  day  to  start  a company  to 
insure  the  permanency  of  the  married  state.  It 
ought  to  pay.  They  insure  everything  nowadays, 
from  boilers  to  window-glass,”  she  added. 

“That  7s  so,”  said  Ellett.  “ Now,  the  interviews  of 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


305 


the  examiner  of  that  company  with  the  young 
couples  would  n’t  be  a bad  situation  to  play.” 

“ Admirable/’  laughed  Lyndsay. 

“ But  don’t  you  want  to  hear  our  plots?  You  will 
see  what  you  have  escaped.” 

“ By  all  means,”  replied  Carington. 

“Well,  here  is  one.  Mr.  Sludge,  the  medium,  calls 
up  Shakspere  to  ask  if  he  wrote  Bacon’s  essays.” 

“ If  that  is  a specimen,”  cried  Carington,  “ I still  less 
regret.  The  probability  of  Shakspere  having  been  in 
Bacon’s  pay  as  essayist  strikes  me  as  a delightful 
alternation  to  put  into  the  Shakspere  discussion.” 

“ It  is  a trifle  tough,”  said  Anne.  “ I should  like 
to  ask  for  it  at  the  next  spiritual  seance.  I myself 
am  strongly  of  the  opinion  that  Queen  Elizabeth 
wrote  Shakspere’s  plays.  Just  turn  some  of  her  cor- 
respondence with  James  into  blank  verse,  and  see 
how  dramatic  it  is,  and  how  humorous.” 

“ Repeat  some  of  it  for  Mr.  Carington,  aunt,”  said 
Rose.  “ It  is  really  interesting.” 

“ Certainly,  if  I can  recall  it.  Ah,  here  is  one.  I 
have  made  but  little  change  in  her  words, — hardly 
any: 

‘I  praise  God  that  you  uphold  ever  a regal  rule. 

Since  God  then  hath  made  kings, 

Let  them  not  unmake  their  authority. 

Let  little  rivers  and  small  brooks  acknowledge 
Their  spring,  and  flow  no  further  than  their  banks.' 

“There  is  another: 

* Else  laws  resemble  cobwebs,  whence  great  bees 
Get  out  by  breaking,  and  small  flies  stick  fast 
For  weakness.' 


20 


306  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  AEE  GREEN 


“ I like  this  one,”  said  Miss  Anne : 

“ 1 For  they  be  actions  rather,  and  not  words, 

Which  paint  out  kings  and  truly  in  their  colors. 
There  be  so  many  viewers  of  their  facts 
That  their  disorders  (do)  permit  no  shade, 

Nor  will  abide  excuses.'  ” 

“ Oh,”  cried  Carington,  “ that  last  is  like  Tennyson. 
‘ The  fierce  light  that  breaks  upon  a throne/  Is 
there  more  ? ” 

“Tell  us,”  said  Rose,  “the  one  about  a treaty  — 
she  ‘ mislikes/  I think  that  is  what  she  says.  I liked 
that  one.” 

“ I think  I can : 

‘ Touching  an  instrument  you 'd  have  me  sign, 

I do  assure  you,  though  I play  on  some, 

And  have  been  brought  up  to  know  musick  well, 

Yet  this  discord  would  be  of  gross  account, 

Such  as  for  well-tuned  musick  were  not  fit. 

Go  teach  your  new  raw  counsellors  better  manners 
Than  to  advise  you  such  a paring  off 
Of  ample  meanings.'  ” 

“How  pleasantly  that  takes  one  back  to  Samlet 
and  the  pipe ! ” said  Lyndsay.  “ It  ought  to  settle  the 
question  of  authorship.” 

“ I begin  to  agree  with  you.  Miss  Anne,”  said  Ellett. 

“Don’t  forget  to  ask  your  medium  about  Queen 
Bess,  aunty,”  cried  Rose. 

“I?  Indeed  I shall.” 

“ Have  you  any  belief  in  that  business  of  spiritual 
manifestations,  Mr.  Lyndsay  ? ” asked  Carington. 

“None.  Not  I.  It  is  one  mass  of  self-deceit  and 
fraud.  I have  seen  too  much  of  it.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  307 


“I  have  a strong  belief  in  the  circulating  medium,” 
cried  Anne.  “ It  seems  rather  essential  as  a means  of 
inspiring  the  other  mediums.  But  what  are  the  rest 
of  your  situations,  Archie  ? ” 

“ Oh,  there  is  one  more  Shaksperian  situation.” 

“ Well.” 

“Mr.  Shakspere  appears  at  midnight  in  Mr. 
Browning’s  study  and  asks  what  the  mischief  he 
means  by  — ” 

“For  shame,  Pardy!”  broke  in  Rose;  “we  won’t 
hear  any  more.  They  are  horrid.” 

“I  guess  we  are  out  of  it,”  said  Jack.  “I’m 
audience.” 

“ Oh,  there  is  one  for  you.  The  ghost  of  a mur- 
dered bear  appears  to  Master  J ack  Ly  ndsay  and  wishes 
to  know  if  he  can  spell  ‘ responsibility.’  ” 

“ Good  for  you,  Jack,”  cried  Dick. 

“ Wait  till  I catch  you  to-morrow,  Redhead.”  But 
there  was  much  laughter,  and  Jack  felt  that  on  the 
whole  it  was  not  undesirable  for  his  bear  to  pass  into 
the  limbo  of  jokes. 

“ And  now,  boys,  be  off  with  you  and  dream  over 
that  last  situation.  Good  night,”  and  they  trooped 
away,  merry,  to  their  tent  on  the  cliff. 

“Jack  is  a very  good  actor,”  said  Lyndsay;  “but 
children  are  apt  to  be  fairly  good  actors  and  then  to 
lose  the  gift.  Ned  is  even  better.  The  boys  are  fond 
of  charades,  and  what  we  like  best  is  to  take  the 
names  of  poets  from  Chaucer  to  Crabbe, — we  have 
pretty  well  exhausted  the  list.” 

“ I have  seen  in  France,”  said  Ellett,  “ a harder  game 
than  your  plots.  Two  or  three  scenes  are  allowed, 


308  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GrREEN 

and  what  each  is  to  include  is  stated.  Then  the  actors 
endeavor  to  go  through  with  each  act  so  as  to  fulfil 
its  dramatic  purpose.” 

“ I trust,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  “ iiq  one  will  intro- 
duce that  game.” 

“ It  would  be  charming,”  cried  Rose. 

“ Come  in,  Archie,”  said  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  “ and  let  us 
have  our  piquet.  Anne  and  Rose  will  furnish  quite 
as  much  talk  as  will  suffice.  I must  have  my  revenge.” 

“Certainly,  my  dear,”  and  he  went  in  with  his 
wife. 

“ Some  time  we  must  really  try  those  plots,”  said 
Rose.  “ Papa  is  too  fond  of  the  difficult  ones.  Imag- 
ine j Hamlet  furnishing  evidence  to  the  Psychical 
Society  about  his  father’s  ghost!” 

“ Does  any  one  believe  in  ghosts  nowadays?”  asked 
Ellett. 

“ Pardy  does, — look ! ” she  said,  laughing,  and  point- 
ing through  the  open  window.  Lyndsay  was  push- 
ing off  from  a burning  candle  the  tall  spikes  of  wax 
which  stood  unmelted  on  one  side.  “We  are  laugh- 
ing at  you,  papa,”  she  cried. 

“Are  you?”  he  said,  turning  from  his  game.  “I 
can’t  stand  a ghost  in  the  candle:  it  is  another  relic  of 
my  Scotch  education,  Mr.  Carington.  It  is  bad  luck 
to  have  a ghost  on  the  candle.  I have  lost  the  belief, 
but  the  habit  remains.” 

“ I fancy  we  all  keep  some  of  these  little  pet  super- 
stitions,” said  Carington. 

“I  assure  you,  we  are  rather  proud  of  ours,”  re- 
turned Anne. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  309 


The  chat  went  on,  grave  and  gay  by  turns,  and  at 
last  Lyndsay  came  back,  saying : 

“ I retire  after  a sad  defeat.77 

“ My  papa  plays  cards  abominably,  Mr.  Carington. 
He  writes  verses  better.77 

“ Rose ! Rose ! None  of  that  nonsense.’7 

“ The  fact  is,  when  we  were  talking  about  the  cha- 
rades of  poets’  names,  I meant  to  repeat  the  endings 
papa  made  for  some  of  them,  but,  when  I mentioned 
it  to  him,  he  shook  his  head  like  a China  mandarin, 
and  I weakly  gave  up.  He  is  doing  it  now,77  and  she 
laughed.  u Oh,  I am  even  with  you  at  last,  Pardy,  be- 
cause you  left  me  yesterday  in  the  anguish  of  ungrati- 
fied curiosity.  This  is  my  vengeance.77 

“ It  is  incomplete,77  said  Carington. 

“ Blush,  Pardy,  but  tell  us  the  verses.77  Lyndsay 
declared  that  the  verse  was  hardly  worth  a fight. 

“ I can  recall  only  two,77  he  said.  “ Here  is  one : 

The  fight  was  lost.  On  hill  and  glen 
Thick  lay  the  ranks  of  fallen  men; 

And  sullen  through  the  narrow  gorge 
Went  hack  the  standard  of  St.  George. 

Then  in  the  saddle  rose  the  'Squire, 

And  shook  his  pennoned  spear  on  high, 

And  called  his  broken  band  again, 

And  taught  them  how  to  die, 

And  won  a name,  and  little  knew 
That  where  his  country's  banner  flew 
By  hill  or  dale,  on  ocean  blue, 

In  centuries  to  come, 

That  name  the  lifted  pennon  won 
Should  live  as  deathless  as  the  sun. 


20* 


310 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“Of  course  these  words  were  meant  only  for  the 
children,”  said  Rose ; “I  like  this  better  : 

A Smith  who  heat  the  gold  of  song 
To  voices  pleasant,  sweet  and  strong: 

What  royal  jewelries  he  wrought 
With  simple  words  and  kindly  thought! 

A careless,  foolish,  wasteful  soul, 

Too  fond,  alas,  of  pipe  and  bowl ; 

Vain  of  his  looks,  his  waistcoat’s  set, 

Oppressed  with  duns,  o’erwhelmed  with  debt, 
Crushed  with  distasteful  Grub  Street  work, 

The  friend  of  Reynolds  and  of  Burke, 

He  smiling  bore  the  gibes  of  Johnson, 

And  loitered  in  the  shop  of  Tonson; 

And  well  or  ill,  or  drunk  or  sober, 

In  youth  or  age’s  drear  October 
Went  smiling,  jesting,  laughing  through, 

If  friends  were  false  or  friends  were  true. 

And  fared  he  well,  or  fared  he  ill, 

Left  but  kind  words  to  greet  us  still, 

And  modest  humor’s  gentlest  play, 

That  bids  no  maiden  turn  away, 

And  many  a cool,  clear,  ringing  line, 

Still  heard  through  all  those  noisy  years, 

And  wdiolesome  as  a wayside  spring, 

And  sweet  with  smiles,  or  sad  with  tears.” 

“ That  is  really  a nice  bit  of  character-sketching,” 
said  Carington,  as  he  rose.  “We  must  try  the  post- 
poned plots  some  other  time.” 

“ I think  my  father  and  you  and  Mr.  Ellett  could 
manage  the  ghost  scene.” 

“ Perhaps  we  may  have  a chance  next  winter,”  he 
returned.  “ I have  a bridge  to  build  near  your  good 
city,  and  shall  certainly  see  you  all  as  I go  and  come.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


311 


Rose  made  no  reply.  The  gap  in  the  talk  was  filled 
by  Miss  Anne  : 

“ That  we  shall  be  glad  of.” 

“ And,”  added  Lyndsay,  coming  out,  “ we  shall  hold 
you  to  it.  There  is  a little  old  Madeira  still  left.” 

“Your  fellows  in  the  war  drank  all  that  would 
have  been  mine,”  said  Carington.  “You  owe  me 
principal  and  interest.” 

“We  shall  be  honest ; and  we  shall  look  to  see  you 
also,  Mr.  Ellett,”  said  Rose. 

“ Good  night.”  And  they  went  to  their  boats.  As 
they  poled  away  in  the  night,  Carington  said  to  him- 
self, “ If  those  railway  directors  but  knew  it,  I would 
pay  for  the  privilege  of  building  their  bridge.  How- 
ever, skew  bridges  are  difficult:  it  will  take  a good 
while.”  And  he  lit  his  pipe. 

“ What  are  you  thinking  over,  Fred  ? ” 

“ Oh,  about  the  difficulty  of  constructing  a can- 
tilever skew  bridge.” 

“ What  a word ! Good  gracious ! It  suggests  a 
dreadful  pun.” 

“ Don’t,”  cried  Carington.  “ Come  alongside,  and 
give  me  some  baccy.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


HERE  was  something  pitiful  to  Dor- 
othy in  the  eagerness  with  which 
Joe  received  the  inscription,  which 
she  had  carefully  printed  on  four 
sheets  of  foolscap  basted  together. 
She  read  it  to  him,  over  and  over, 
that  Monday  morning,  at  his  request,  until  he  could 
repeat  it  easily. 

Before  going  home  he  looked  up  Hiram,  and  bor- 
rowed a cold  chisel  and  a hammer.  When  he  reached 
the  wood  where  he  had  hidden  the  stone,  he  laid  it 
down,  and,  without  further  thought,  began  to  chisel 
out  the  few  sad  words  in  which  the  graver  of  the  city 
workman  had  recorded  the  fate  of  Harry  Lyndsay. 
This  was  sufficiently  easy,  as  he  made  rough  work  of 
it,  being  anxious  to  get  to  the  more  difficult  task. 

He  had  reflected  a little  as  to  the  risks  of  some  one 
visiting  the  little  burial-ground  up  the  river,  but,  as 
those  he  knew  thereabouts  did  not  trouble  themselves 
to  visit  the  graves  of  their  dead,  it  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  these  city-folks  would  be  any  more  likely  to 
do  so.  Nor  was  it  any  more  probable  that,  far  away 
in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  anybody  who  was  inter- 
ested would  ever  come  upon  the  burial-place  of  Susan’s 
children. 


312 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  313 


“ Would  n’t  know  nothin’  if  they  did,”  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  went  on  with  great  care  to  mark  with  a 
burned  stick  the  place  for  the  lettering,  which  he  began 
now  to  chisel  on  the  smooth  reverse  of  the  marble. 

It  was  a hard  job,  but  Joe,  like  most  lumbermen, 
was  very  skilful  with  tools.  He  returned  after  din- 
ner, and  steadily  persevered  until  the  twilight  forbade 
him  to  go  on.  Susan,  still  in  her  more  pleasant  mood, 
was  satisfied  that  his  absence  meant  merely  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  usual  labor  of  accumulating  fire-wood 
for  winter  use. 

On  Tuesday,  early,  he  went  back  to  the  unaccus- 
tomed task,  and  all  day  long  hung  anxious  and  sweat- 
ing over  the  stone.  Meanwhile  Margaret  Lyndsay 
sat  on  the  porch  of  the  Cliff  Camp,  reflecting  that 
soon  she  must  go  away  and  leave  her  dead  to  loneli- 
ness and  the  long  burial  of  the  winter  snows. 

On  the  river  Lyndsay  was  fishing  with  Anne,  and 
Dorothy  had  been  over,  and  taken  away,  carefully 
wrapped  in  her  handkerchief,  the  drama  of  “Mrs. 
Macbeth.” 

And  still  the  hammer  rang  on  in  the  dark  wood- 
land, until  at  evening  his  task  was  completed.  Joe 
stood  up,  straightened  his  tired  back,  and  considered 
the  stone  with  satisfaction.  The  work  was  roughly 
done,  but  sufficiently  plain,  nor  was  Joe  disposed  to 
be  too  critical.  At  last  here  was  something  which 
Susie  would  like. 

Pleased  with  this  idea,  he  brought  water  from  a 
forest  spring,  and  sedulously  cleared  the  marble  of 
the  charcoal-marks  and  of  the  soil  of  his  handling. 
As  he  stood  regarding  it,  he  even  felt  pride  in  his 


314 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


seeming  power  to  read  what  he  had  carved,  and  re- 
peated aloud,  “Of  such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 

It  was  now  late,  and  with  deliberate  care,  lest  his 
burden  should  fall,  he  heaved  the  slab  on  his  back,  and 
set  off  across  the  forest,  limping  as  he  went.  When  he 
reached  the  three  small  mounds  in  the  clearing,  he 
laid  it  down  with  care,  and,  after  some  deliberation, 
dug  a hole  and  set  the  stone  at  the  head  of  the  mid- 
dle grave.  Having  thus  completed  his  task,  he  wiped 
his  wet  brow  on  his  sleeve,  and  sat  down  on  a stump, 
with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

He  intended  to  let  the  night  go  by,  and,  after 
breakfast  next  day,  to  take  his  wife  to  the  wood, 
and  surprise  her  with  what  he  had  done  for  her. 
He  would  tell  her  he  had  a secret ; he  would  say  it 
was  something  she  would  want  to  have  done.  But 
he  would  not  tell  her  what  it  was.  He  was  like  a 
great  simple  child ; unthoughtful,  owned  by  the  min- 
ute’s mood  or  need,  not  immoral,  merely  without  any 
recognized  rule  of  life. 

As  he  regarded  what  he  had  done,  he  began  to 
think  that  to  bring  her  hither  at  once  would  be  pleas- 
ant. He  could  not  wait.  The  notion  brought  him 
to  his  feet,  and  he  soon  gathered  the  material  for  a 
fire,  which  he  placed  facing  the  stone,  a few  feet  from 
the  graves.  The  space  around  was  amply  cleared,  so 
that  there  was  no  risk.  This  done,  and  the  pile  ready 
with  birch-bark  kindling,  which  needed  only  to  be 
lighted,  he  turned  away  and  hastened  home. 

It  was  now  dark.  As  he  entered  his  cabin  he  saw 
his  wife  crouched  low  on  a stool  before  the  fire,  her 
head  in  her  hands,  her  hair,  which  was  coarse  and 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


315 


abundant,  hanging  about  her — a comb  awry  in  its 
tumbled  mass. 

He  guessed  that  her  mood  had  changed.  She  took 
no  manner  of  notice  of  his  coming.  He  moved  for- 
ward, and,  touching  her  shoulder,  said  : 

“ What  ’s  the  matter,  Susie  ? ” 

“ Matter  enough  ! ” she  returned,  sharply.  “ That 
lawyer  man  ’s  been  here,  and  wanted  you.  You  ain’t 
never  to  hand  when  you  ’re  wanted.” 

“ What  is  it  now  ? ” 

“ He  says  we  ’ve  got  to  pay  up  or  git  out  in  Octo- 
ber. Guess  he  got  my  mind  ’bout  it.  I ’d  have 
licked  him  if  I ’d  been  a man.  He  was  n’t  far  from 
scared,  anyhow.” 

“ That  won’t  help  us  none,”  said  Joe,  with  a glim- 
mer of  good  sense.  “ He  ’ll  be  wus  ’n  ever  he  was.” 

“Who  cares?”  Then,  turning,  she  set  her  eyes, 
aglow  with  the  firelight,  large,  red,  and  evil,  on  Joe. 
“ That  man  Carington  was  around  to-day,  asking  if 
we  ’d  seen  bear-tracks.  Bill  Sansom  told  me.  He 
did  n’t  come  here.  I did  see  him  yesterday,  on  the 
lower  road,  a-twiddlin’  a gold  watch-chain  and  a- 
singin’.  What  might  a big  gold  watch  be  worth, 
Joe  ? I asked  him  the  hour,  just  to  git  a look  at  it.” 

“ Lord,  Susie,  I don’t  know.” 

To  this  she  made  no  reply.  He  stood  beside  her, 
shifting  his  feet  uneasily. 

Of  a sudden  she  got  up  and  caught  the  man  by 
the  shoulders,  and,  as  she  stood,  towered  over  him 
a full  foot. 

“What — what ’s  the  matter,  Susie ? ” he  gasped. 

“ Git  that  man  up  here  in  September,  you  fool.” 


316  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Joe  looked  aside,  Dorothy’s  imperfect  warning  in 
his  mind. 

“ I heerd  he  ’d  give  np  that  notion.” 

“ That  ’s  a lie.” 

“ It  ain’t ! I swear  it  ain’t  no  lie.  I heerd  Michelle 
a-sayin’  so.” 

“ When  was  it  ? ” 

u I don’t  rightly  remember.  I — I could  n’t  do  it.” 

“ Git  him  here,  and  I ’ll  do  it,”  she  said.  “ It ’s  just 
to  pull  a trigger.  So.”  And  she  snapped  her  thumb 
and  finger  so  as  make  a sharp  click.  The  blood  was 
up  in  splotches  of  dusky  red  upon  her  angular  and 
sallow  face.  The  man  recoiled,  more  scared  at  the 
woman  than  at  the  crime  which  he  lacked  power  to 
conceive  of  as  possible. 

“ Gosh ! ” he  cried,  “ you  ’re  a devil ! ” 

In  an  instant  she  was  changed.  She  had  a share  of 
the  singular  dramatic  power  of  the  abler  and  more 
resolute  criminal  nature. 

“ Oh,  I ’m  just  crazy,  Joe,  what  with  one  thing  and 
another.  Don’t  you  never  mind  me.”  And  a smile, 
which  to  another  man  would  have  seemed  hideous, 
disturbed  her  features  with  unwonted  lines.  “ Might 
nothin’  ever  chance.  You  and  me  we  ’ll  have  to  just 
fight  along.  ’T  ain’t  every  man  would  have  stood  by 
me  all  along,  the  way  you ’ve  done.” 

“ That  ’s  so,”  said  Joe,  relieved.  “I  ’ll  work  for 
you,  Susie:  don’t  you  go  to  fear  I won’t.  I was  a- 
thinkin’  you  was  ’bout  downded  all  along  of  them 
children.” 

“ That  ’s  it,  J oe ; you  ’re  better  a heap  than  me.” 
She  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  that  if  the  chance 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  317 


came  she  would  have  the  power  to  compel  him  into 
doing  her  will.  There  was  strange  self-confidence  in 
her  sense  of  capacity  to  hurl  this  child-man  into  evil- 
doing,  as  one  may  cast  a stone ; and  now  the  notion 
possessed  her  almost  continually.  How  to  do  it  ? how 
to  bring  about  the  occasion?  how  to  escape  conse- 
quences? The  craving  for  this  thing  to  become  pos- 
sible grew  as  the  days  went  by.  Nor  is  this  abiding 
temptation  rare  in  minds  of  her  class.  I have  said  that 
it  possessed  her,  and  the  phrase  suffices  to  describe  her 
condition.  The  idea  of  crime  owned  her  as  a master 
owns  a slave.  It  was  a fierce  and  a powerful  nature 
which  poor  Joe  had  taken  to  his  unchanging  heart. 

"I  knowed  it  was  the  children.  You  won’t  never 
talk  so  again?  Just  you  come  with  me;  I ’ve  got 
something  ’ll  surprise  you.” 

“What ’s  that,  Joe?”  She  was  just  now  intent  on 
quieting  his  fears.  “ Do  tell  me.” 

“No  ! You  come  along.  Looks  like  rain  a bit.” 
“Well,  I ’ll  go.”  She  threw  her  hair  aside,  and 
went  out  with  him,  saying,  “You  are  a queer  old  man ; 
I guess  I ’m  right  curious.”  Well  pleased,  he  went 
along,  the  woman  following. 

By  and  by  they  came  into  the  open  space  around 
which  the  underbrush  grew  so  close  that  it  would  have 
puzzled  one  unused  to  the  way  to  find  it. 

“ You  just  stand  there  a bit,”  — and,  as  he  spoke,  he 
bent  over  the  ready  pile, — “ and  don’t  look  yet,”  he 
added. 

“ What ’s  that  white  thing  ? ” The  night  was  dark, 
and,  in  the  forest,  of  inky  blackness,  because  of  the 
coming  storm. 


318  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ Yon  wait/’  he  repeated.  “ Don’t  yon  look  yet.” 
He  struck  a match  on  his  cordnroys,  and  lighted  the 
birch-bark  shavings.  Instantly  a red  light  leaped  np, 
and  in  a moment  the  flame  soared  high,  flaring  in 
the  gnsts  of  wind,  so  that  the  tall  pines  cast  all 
around  wild  lengths  of  shivering  shadows,  and  the 
forest  became  as  day;  while  the  white  oblong  of 
stone  came  sharply  ont  into  view. 

“ I done  it,”  he  said.  “ I done  it  for  yon,  Snsie ! 
I done  it.” 

The  woman  came  near,  and,  saying  no  words,  fell 
on  her  knees  to  see  it  better. 

“ Yon  did  that,  Joe  ? ” and  she  looked  np. 

“I  did!” 

u There ’s  letters  on  it.  I can’t  spell  them  rightly.” 
“ Dory  she  made  them  on  paper.  She  won’t  know. 
I told  her  it  was  for  a board  I was  thinkin’  to  set  np. 
There  don’t  no  one  come  here.” 

“ It ’s  a stone  ! a real  tombstone,  Joe  ! ” 

“ Yes,  it ’s  that.” 

“ What ’s  on  it  ? ” 

“ I learned  it,”  he  said.  “ It  jnst  says : 

c HERE  LIE  THE  BODIES 
OF 

SUSAN  FAIRLAMB, 

PETER  FAIRLAMB, 

ISAIAH  FAIRLAMB, 

CHILDREN  OF 
SUSAN  FAIRLAMB.’ 

I left  ont  Pete  Fairlamb.  Seems  right,  don’t  it?” 
he  added,  noticing  her  silence. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  319 


“ There  is  n’t  anything  about  when  they  was  born 
and  died.  Any  fool  would  have  guessed  it  ought  to 
have  that.” 

Joe’s  face  fell.  After  all,  he  had  failed  to  satisfy 
her  entirely. 

“ I done  my  best.  Guess  my  back  ’s  achin’  yet 
with  heftin’  that  stone.” 

“ Where  did  you  fetch  it  ? ” she  said,  looking  up. 

“ I took  it  out  of  the  graveyard,  up-river.” 

“Why  can’t  you  say  you  stole  it?  It  ’s  them 
Lyndsays’.”  As  she  spoke  the  dominant  idea  which 
she  had  so  long  nurtured  rose  anew  into  power. 
“Well,  I did  n’t  think  you  was  that  much  of  a man, 
Joe.”  She  felt  that  he  had  taken  a downward  step. 
“ You  stole  it ! ” she  repeated.  “ You  need  n’t  be 
afraid  to  tell  me.” 

The  words  “ stole  it  ” disturbed  him. 

“ I stole  it ! ” he  repeated,  mechanically. 

“ I don’t  like  it  any  the  worse  for  that.  What ’s 
that  last  line?  Did  you  say  all  of  it?” 

“ That ’s  what  Dory  said  was  to  be  put  under  the 
rest.  It  made  a lot  more  work;  but  Dory  she  said 
they  most  alius  done  it  like  that.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” said  the  woman.  “ I don’t  make  it 
out.” 

He  hesitated  a moment.  “ ‘ Of  such  ’ — that ’s  it ; 
most  clean  forgot  it : ‘ Of  such  are  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.’  ” 

As  he  spoke  the  drops  began  to  fall.  Then  an 
intolerable  blaze  of  orange  light  flooded  the  forest 
with  momentary  noonday,  and,  without  interval,  the 
thunder,  followed  by  a deluge  of  rain,  and  struck 


320  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

hither  and  thither  by  the  hills,  died  away  reverber- 
ant in  the  distance. 

“ Jerusalem!  That  was  a near  one!  Ain’t  it  a- 
rainin’ ! ” 

As  the  lightning  fell  the  woman  threw  up  her  arms 
where  she  knelt  and  staggered  to  her  feet.  “ Come 
along/’  she  cried ; and,  as  she  moved  swiftly  before 
him  in  a mighty  downfall  of  rain,  she  said,  over  and 
over,  “ c Of  such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ’ 5 ‘ of  such 
are  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ! ’ ” 

When  they  reached  home,  she  sat  down  by  the  fire, 
as  if  unconscious  of  her  soaked  garments,  until  Joe, 
coming  in  from  the  cow-house,  said : 

“You  ’d  best  be  gettin’  on  dry  clothes,  Susie. 
You  ’ll  take  your  death  of  cold.” 

“ I ’d  like  them  Lyndsays  to  miss  that  stone,  Joe.” 
“ I hope  they  won’t,”  he  returned.  “ They  ain’t  never 
been  nothin’  but  good  to  folks  hereabouts.  I ’d  not  of 
took  it  happen  there  was  another ; and  I would  n’t 
have  done  it  for  no  other  woman.” 

“ It  was  a brave  job,  Joe,  and  I ’ll  never  forget  it.  I 
wish  them  other  things  had  been  set  on  it  — when 
they  was  born  and  died.  It ’s  only  them  rich  people 
has  things  complete.  Maybe  you  done  the  best  you 
could.” 

“ That ’s  so,”  he  returned. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


HN  Wednesday  morning,  Anne  Lynd- 
say  woke  up  with  what  her  brother 
called  one  of  the  acute  attacks  of 
curiosity  in  regard  to  Mrs.  May- 
brook.  They  were  subject  to  vari- 
ations and  accompaniments.  She 
shared  with  her  friend,  Dr.  North,  the  fancy  for  imag- 
ining what  certain  persons,  real  or  unreal,  would  do 
under  circumstances  which  she  contrived  for  them. 
It  was  the  byplay  of  a restless  intellect.  Lyndsay, 
who  was  in  his  professional  work  keenly  logical,  had  at 
times  no  patience  with  Anne’s  amusing  nonsense.  He 
labeled  it  “ mental  vagabondage  ” or  “ mind  gossip.” 
She  was  just  now  outside  in  her  hammock,  enjoying 
the  wonderful  weather  of  a Canadian  river  in  mid- 
June.  She  was  also  busy  considering  Dorothy  May- 
brook  in  a variety  of  new  social  surroundings ; as  to 
what  she  would  say  or  do  in  a drawing-room,  or  if  of 
a sudden  dropped  into  a seat  at  a Boston  dinner- 
party, between  Emerson  and  Wendell  Holmes.  And 
then  she  laughed  aloud  in  her  satisfaction  at  reseat- 
ing her  between  Polonius  and  Mercutio. 

“What  amuses  you?”  said  Lyndsay,  as  he  came 
out  of  the  cabin  with  his  beloved  “ Marcus  Aurelius,” 
a finger  in  between  the  leaves.  “ What,  no  book  ? ” 

21  321 


322  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

She  related  gaily  her  occupation. 

“Upon  my  word,  Anne,  I am  unable  to  conceive 
what  pleasure  you  can  take  in  such  stuff.77  He  was  in 
one  of  his  severer  moods,  when  to  be  merely  logical 
was  alone  possible.  As  Anne  said,  it  was  pretty  hard 
to  switch  Archie  off  on  a siding.  He  had  his  own 
moods,  gay  or  serious;  but  for  the  time  they  were 
despotic,  and  disabled  him  temporarily  from  entering 
into  those  of  others. 

“ My  dear  Archie/7  she  returned,  “ you  have  no 
mental  charity;  at  least,  not  of  a morning.  Now,  if 
I were  to  ask  you,  to-night,  to  imagine  Dorothy  at 
dinner  between  George  the  Third  and  Edgar  Poe, 
you  would  just  as  like  as  not  assist  my  imagination 
with  an  added  pair  of  wings,  and  — 77 

“Very  likely,77  he  interrupted.  “I  suppose  it  is 
the  result  of  long  habit.  I came  out  just  now  to  ask 
you  how  this  passage  strikes  you.77 

She  was  at  once  all  interest.  “ What  is  it,  Archie  ? 77 

“ ‘ Cast  away  opinion  ; thou  art  saved.  Who,  then, 
hinders  thee  from  casting  it  away  ? 7 77 

Anne  laughed,  “ Try  it,77  she  said.  “ Cast  away 
opinions — have  none,  and  you  won7t  be  bothered 
with  the  need  to  trouble  yourself  with  this  old 
heathen7s.  I agree  with  him.  Opinions  are  like 
gowns : it  is  so  nice  to  change  them ! I am  all  the 
time  giving  away  mine,  and  it  is  delightful  to  see 
how  ill  they  fit  other  folk.77  She  was,  in  reality,  of 
all  people,  the  most  definite  and  clear  as  to  her  re- 
ligion and  her  politics. 

“ I think  you  never  can  be  serious,  Anne.  Nobody 
holds  harder  to  their  beliefs  than  you  do.  I can7t 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  323 


imagine  what  the  old  pagan  meant.  Saved  from 
what?  ‘Cast  away  opinion,  and  you  are  saved.’ ” 
“It  is  the  salvation  of  negation,  Archie ) pretty 
popular  in  some  places.  It  is  not  my  kind.” 

“ I shall  get  no  help  here,”  said  her  brother.  “ You 
are  no  easier  to  eject  from  a mental  mood  than  I am. 
I think  I shall  give  it  up  and  go  a-fishing.” 

“ It  is  my  changeless  opinion  that  you  are  now  on 
the  track  of  reason.  The  first  fish  will  answer  you. 
He  will  be  quite  on  the  side  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  and 
wish  he  had  not  had  a too  definite  opinion  as  to  the 
desirability  of  closer  relations  with  a dusty  miller  or 
Durham  ranger.  Get  to  thee  fine  opinions,  but 
don’t  act  on  them.  Thus,  thou  shalt  have  the  cool 
joy  of  theory,  and  escape  the  hot  results  of  its  practi- 
cal application.” 

“ On  my  honor,  Anne,  you  are  quite  intolerable  at 
times.” 

“I  am  to  myself,  old  fellow.  I wish  aches  were 
opinions.  The  Christian  Science  idiots  say  they  are. 
I would  like  to  exchange  aches  for  opinions.” 

“Are  you  not  so  well  to-day?”  he  said,  putting  Aure- 
lius in  his  coat-pocket.  “ You  look  much  better.” 

“ I am  far  better  than  usual,”  she  returned,  hastily 
repentant,  as  usual,  of  her  admission  of  weakness  or 
pain.  “ I am  thinking  of  going  over  to  see  Dorothy 
this  afternoon.  It  is  a great  enterprise  for  me,  but  I 
really  cannot  bide,  as  she  says.” 

“ Why  not?” 

“My  dear  Archie,  she  took  away  ‘Macbeth’  to 
read,  yesterday,  and  I must  — I cannot  wait.  I want 
to  know  what  she  thinks  of  it.” 


324  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Indeed!  She  probably  won’t  think  at  all.  She 
will  very  likely  give  np  at  the  end  of  the  first  scene.” 

“No,  I don’t  think  it.  After  the  witches?  No! 
She  told  me  you  said  something  about  Lady  Macbeth  ; 
why  or  when,  I do  not  know.  It  seems  to  have  made 
her  curious.” 

“That  is  rather  odd.  Does  she  read  much?  I 
should  not  think  it.” 

“ No,  very  little,  and  that  is  why  I want  to  hear. 
The  opinions  of  people  who  read  too  much  are  not 
often  worth  much.  But  what  Dorothy  concludes 
about  Lady  Macbeth  ought  to  be  entertaining,  at 
least.” 

“You  can  have  a canoe,  dear,  and  Tom,  after 
lunch.  Are  you  quite  up  to  the  walk?” 

“ My  legs  may  give  out,  but  my  curiosity  will  not 
— I can  assure  you  of  that.  I shall  take  Ned.” 

“ Yery  good,  then.  I am  to  go  with  Margaret  up  to 
the  burying-ground.  She  wants  to  see  that  it  is  kept 
in  decent  order,  and  to  have  a better  in  closure  made.” 

“Poor  Margaret ! We  go  away  on  Saturday — do 
we  not  ? ” 

“Yes,  about  noon  or  later.” 

“ I suppose  those  Boston  men  will  remain.” 

“ Yes,  a week  or  two.” 

After  this  she  was  silent,  and  her  brother,  leaning 
against  the  door-post,  glanced  listlessly  down  the  river. 
She  was  seldom  silent  very  long. 

“Well,  what  is  it,  sister?”  He  rarely  used  the 
word  of  relationship. 

“ Have  you  thought  at  all,  Archie,  about — Rose 
and  Mr.  Carington  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  325 

“ Why  should  I ? Margaret  has  been  pestering 
herself  about  the  man.  But  Rose  is  a difficult  young 
woman,  Anne,  and  there  have  been  so  many  matri- 
monial scares  that  now  I don7t  trouble  myself  any 
longer.77 

“ Circumstance  is  a mighty  match-maker,  Archie.77 

“ But  Rose  is  not,  as  you  know.  I sometimes  think 
she  will  never  marry.  She  is  twenty  now.77 

“ Indeed  ! I think,  Archie,  I should  like  to  have  a 
dictionary  of  the  reasons  why  women  marry  men.77 

He  laughed.  “The  reason  is  as  old  as  Adam. 
They  have  no  one  else  to  marry.77 

“ Oh,  he  had  no  embarras  de  choix ,77  she  cried. 
“Pity  he  had  not.  They  are  various,  I fancy — I 
mean  the  honest  causes  of  interest  that  lead  on  to 
love.  I have  always  thought  that  Rose  would  be 
captured  by  character.  In  our  every-day  life  it 
lacks  chance  of  exhibition,  but  here,  it  is,  or  has 
been,  different.  That  man  is  a strong,  effective,  de- 
cisive person.  He  has  a good  deal  that  is  attractive, 
and  that  soft  Southern  way  which  our  men  lack. 
Moreover,  he  is  very  good-looking.  If  you  don7t 
want  it  to  be,  take  care : I think  it  is  too  late.77 

“Anne!77  Her  sagacity  was  very  rarely  at  fault. 
He  knew  it,  and  was  somewhat  alarmed.  “ But  I can 
do  nothing.77 

“ No.  I do  not  know  why  you  should.  We  know 
all  about  the  man  and  his  people.  Rose  is  not  a girl 
to  act  in  haste.77 

“ Why,  then,  should  we  bother  about  it  ? 77  he  said. 

“We  don7t : you  will.  And  Margaret  will  fuss.77 

“ I am  afraid  so.  Confound  the  men  ! 77 


2r 


326  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ If  Margaret  had  confounded  you  with  other  men 
twenty-four  years  ago,  this  catastrophe  would  not 
have  been  imminent  to-day.  Let  us  hold  her  re- 
sponsible.” 

“You  have  made  me  very  unhappy,  Anne.  I can’t 
jest  about  it.” 

“ Then  I can.  I think  I like  him.  I wish  I had 
married  myself  — I mean,  somebody  else.  Old  maids 
are  married  to  themselves,  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
they  have  a bad  time.” 

“ Do  you  ? ” 

“ Not  a bit ! G-o  a-fishing,  and  hold  your  tongue.” 

Lyndsay  uttered  a malediction  on  things  in  general, 
and  walked  away. 

Some  time  after  lunch  Anne  called  Ned,  and  went 
over  the  river  with  Tom,  who  thundered  replies  to 
her  ever-varying  range  of  questions  about  climate, 
lumber,  trees,  and  men.  A little  later,  Margaret  and 
her  husband,  who  had  given  up  for  her  his  evening 
sport,  set  out  up-stream,  and  the  twins  were  left  to  the 
Indian  and  a chance  at  the  lower  pool. 

Anne  and  the  boy  climbed  up  the  bank,  and  went 
away  into  the  woodland.  Several  times,  feeling  tired, 
she  sat  down  on  a wayside  stump  or  fallen  tree.  She 
had  the  peculiar  trait  of  liking  to  be  silent  when  afoot 
or  when  driving.  As  soon  as  she  was  at  rest  her 
tongue  was  apt  to  be  set  free,  and  she  became,  as 
usual,  a delightful  comrade. 

Now  she  began  to  amuse  herself  by  asking  the  lad 
in  what  age  he  would  like  to  have  lived,  and  was 
pleased  that  he  chose  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Then  at 
last  she  talked  about  Dorothy,  and  of  her  life,  its 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  327 


hardships,  trials,  and  contentments  with  what  she  had, 
and,  finally,  of  the  woman’s  interest  in  “ Macbeth  ” 
and  her  own  curiosity  as  to  this.  She  had  the  art  of 
interesting  the  young  in  matters  usually  thought  to 
be  out  of  their  sphere  of  comprehension. 

As  she  sat,  Ned,  who  was  quick  to  see,  noticed  that 
she  became  of  a sudden  silent,  and,  looking  up,  saw 
that  her  face  was  distorted  for  a moment,  and  that 
she  had  one  hand  pressed  against  her  side.  He  rose, 
saying: 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Aunt  Anne  ? ” 

“ Nothing.  Nothing  much.  I very  often  have  pain, 
and  sometimes  it  beats  me.” 

“ I am  sorry.  Can’t  I do  something  ? ” 

“No,  dear.  It  will  be  better  presently.  It  is  bet- 
ter now,”  and  she  wiped  her  brow. 

“ Why  do  people  have  pain  ? ” 

“ To  keep  them  from  eating  green  apples  a second 
time.” 

“That ’s  so,  aunty 5 but  you  — why  do  you  have 
pain?” 

“ Perhaps  because  my  great-grandpapa  would  eat 
green  apples.  ‘ The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes, 
and  the  children’s  teeth  are  set  on  edge.’  ” 

“ I don’t  understand.” 

“ No ! That  is  an  enigma  for  more  than  you.  I do 
not  know  why  I have  pain.  Having  it,  I know  what 
to  do  with  it.  I don’t  know  why  Christ  had  pain. 
God  might  have  willed  to  help  us  in  other  ways,  but 
at  least  I know  what  to  do  with  the  story  of  that 
anguish.  If  he  was,  as  we  think,  a perfect  man,  Ned, 
he  must  have  suffered  as  only  a man  who  was  also 


328 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


more  than  man  could  suffer.  As  he  chose  his  pain  to 
be,  and  taught  men  how  to  use  it,  so  must  I in  my 
small  way.” 

“And  would  n’t  you  choose,  aunty,  just  to  have  no 
pain,  if  you  could  ? ” 

“ Get  thee  behind  me,  little  Satan,”  she  laughed. 
“If  I could  make  a world  without  pain,  would  I 
choose  ? I don’t  know.  My  pain  has  been  a bitter 
friend.  Come,”  and  she  rose.  The  boy,  whose 
thoughts  and  questions  were  beyond  his  years, 
walked  on  in  silence,  now  and  then  glancing  at  the 
woman’s  face. 

“Does  no  one  know,  Aunt  Anne,  why  we  must 
have  pain?” 

“ Only  one  man  knew,  Ned,  and  he  suffered  and 
was  silent.” 

“ It  seems  dreadful,  Aunt  Anne.” 

“ Perhaps  it  only  seems : best  to  think  that.” 

At  the  cabin-door  Dorothy  came  out  smiling,  the 
little,  red  pocket-copy  of  “Macbeth”  in  her  hand. 

“Now  this  is  right  good  of  you,  Miss  Anne,”  she 
said.  “ Come  in.  Mrs.  Lyndsay  was  telling  me  last 
week  you  like  a cup  of  tea  about  sundown.  It ’s  a 
bit  early,  but  you  might  be  tired.  I ’ve  got  the  tea 
Mrs.  Lyndsay  sent  me  last  year.” 

“I  would  like  a cup,  Dorothy.  Plow  is  Pliram? 
and  the  cows  ? and  the  chickens  ? and  Sambo,  the 
cat?” 

“ They  ’re  all  well  — the  whole  family.” 

She  set  the  kettle  on  the  fire,  got  some  bread,  cut 
it  up,  and  set  it  with  a supply  of  butter  before  Ned. 

“ No  good  in  asking  a boy  if  he  is  hungry.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  329 


Ned  laughed.  “ Jack  says  it  is  no  use  for  Dick  to 
eat : he  is  just  as  hungry  when  he  is  done  as  he  was 
at  first.” 

“ L It  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on,  like  the  worm  i’  the 
bud/  ” said  Anne  to  herself.  “ I ’ll  keep  that  quota- 
tion for  Archie.”  And  then,  aloud,  “We  old  folks 
eat  from  habit.  The  only  appetite  I have  left  is  for 
books,  and  — What  good  tea,  Dorothy ! Thanks  ! 
Yes,  one  cup  more.  My  brother  says  you  like  coffee 
better.  I sent  to  Montreal  for  a few  things  you 
might  like.  You  will  find  among  them  a small  bag 
of  coffee.  We  think  ours  excellent.” 

“And  I was  just  last  night  a-wondering  how  I 
could  get  some  right  good  coffee.  It ’s  half  chicory 
what  we  get ; and  here,  in  you  walk,  and  1 ’ve  got  it 
easy  as  asking.  I have  n’t  said  I ’m  obliged  to  you, 
but  I am.  Fact  is,  Miss  Anne,  giving  comes  so  nat- 
ural to  some  folks  — you  might  as  well  thank  them 
for  sneezing.  I hn  a bit  that  way  myself.  I do  just 
think  being  thanked  is  the  hardest  part  of  giving. 
If  the  man  in  church  was  to  say,  6 Thank  you, 
ma’am/  every  time  I dropped  a sixpence  in  his  bag, 
he  would  n’t  get  another  out  of  me  soon.” 

“ I am  much  of  your  way  of  thinking,”  said  Anne. 
“ But  tell  me,  what  about  the  book  ? How  do  you 
like  it?  And  why  did  you  want  to  read  it?” 

“ Mr.  Lyndsay  happened  to  say  some  one  was  like 
that  woman,  Lady  Macbeth.  Guess  I called  her  Mrs. 
Macbeth.” 

“And  who  was  the  some  one  ? ” 

Dorothy  hesitated. 

“ I was  telling  him  a little  about  Susie  Colkett.” 


330 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ Indeed !” 

“ Yes — she  ’s  an  evil-minded  one.” 

Anne  had  no  suspicion  of  the  seriousness  of  the 
story  Dorothy  had  confided  to  Mr.  Lyndsay,  and  was 
somewhat  amused  at  the  remoteness  of  the  tragic 
comparison.  She  set  the  thing  aside,  and  resolved  to 
ask  her  brother  what  he  meant.  She  was  now  in- 
stantly curious  as  to  what  effect  the  drama  had  had 
upon  a woman  like  Dorothy. 

“ If  Susan  Colkett  is  as  bad  as  Lady  Macbeth , she 
must  be  an  unpleasant  neighbor.” 

“ There  is  n’t  much  to  steal  here,”  said  Dorothy, 
smiling  and  looking  around  her ; “ and  I never  did 
see  the  woman  I was  afraid  of.  As  for  Susie,  she  ’s 
so  bad,  she  ’s — a fool.  There  would  n’t  be  much 
harm  in  it  if  Joe  was  n’t  the  worst  fool  of  the  two. 
She  ’ll  be  the  losing  of  that  man  yet.  Two  fools  can 
hatch  a heap  of  mischief.” 

“ He  is  n’t  much  like  Macbeth .” 

“I  don’t  know  that.  You  were  asking  about  this 
book.  I don’t  read  books  much.  I can  find  out  peo- 
ple right  soon;  books  — they  puzzle  me.” 

“ But  you  have  read  it  ? ” 

“Yes,  I read  it.  I read  it  twice.  I sort  of  set  my- 
self to  believe  it  the  second  time.  There ’s  a heap  I 
did  n’t  understand.” 

“ And  Lady  Macbeth  ? ” 

“ She  was  a queer  one.  All  that  howling  and  a- 
carrying  on  of  the  witch-women,  it ’s  just  nonsense. 
I got  the  idea  those  witches  set  it  up  to  tell  the  man 
he  was  to  be  a king : that ’s  straight,  is  n’t  it  ? ” 
“Yes.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  331 


“’T  is  n’t  wholesome  to  get  notions;  they  stick 
like  bur-ticks.  I knew  a girl  down  at  Marysville,  in 
Georgia,  and  an  old  black  woman  told  her,  for  her 
fortune,  she  was  to  marry  a thin  man  with  heaps  of 
money,  and  the  fool  was  so  awful  took  with  this  that 
she  told  her  beau.  He  was  a direful  stout  man. 
Well,  when  she  would  n’t  have  him,  he  went  off  and 
tried  to  starve  himself  thin ; and  the  end  was  he  fell 
away  and  died,  and  that  girl,  she  never  got  another 
beau,  fat  or  thin.” 

Ned  and  his  aunt  laughed. 

“ Well,  what  else,  Dorothy?  ” 

“ That ’s  about  all  I have  to  say.  That  Macbeth 
woman  understood  p’intin’  her  man.” 

“ She  did,  indeed.” 

“Sometimes  Hiram  gets  tired  of  being  p’inted. 
That ’s  how  men  are : they  have  n’t  got  the  natural 
goodness  of  women.  I would  n’t  give  a cent  for  the 
woman  that  don’t  know  a man  has  got  to  be  kept 
p’inted  on  to  the  narrow  way.  They  ’re  awful  easy 
got  off  the  track  — just  like  Hiram:  he  ’ll  stop  to 
pick  berries  any  time.  You  just  take  notice  how  Eve 
she  p’inted  Adam,  and  it ’s  been  going  on  ever  since, 
like  it  was  natural.  Maybe ’t  is.” 

Anne  was  enchanted. 

“ Shall  I leave  you  the  book  ? ” 

“No,  I don’t  want  it.  I could  n’t  stand  two  of  the 
kind.  Susie  Colkett ’s  enough.  Have  another  cup  ? ” 
“ No ; and  thank  you  for  the  roses,  Dorothy.” 

“ I had  n’t  but  just  six.” 

“ They  were  lovely.”  And  now  Anne  was  still  more 
certain  how  six  roses  came  to  be  five. 


332  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“I  like  them  right  well,  Miss  Anne.  I don’t  be- 
lieve anybody  likes  them  more  than  me.  Seems  like 
waste,  next  month,  to  see  those  wild  roses  so  thick  all 
along  the  river,  and  no  one  so  much  as  to  smell  them. 
Seems  just  pure  waste,  like  that  precious  ointment 
Mrs.  Lyndsay  and  me  were  talking  about  the  other 
day.  That  always  did  puzzle  me,  that  story.” 

“ Does  it  ? ” said  Anne.  “ Perhaps  the  flowers  enjoy 
one  another  — who  knows  ? And  perhaps  you  and  I 
and  the  rest  of  us  are  not  all  the  beings  of  earth. 
Why  should  we  think  everything  is  meant  only  for 
us?” 

“ Sakes  alive ! Miss  Anne,  but  you  have  got  some 
queer  notions.  To  think  of  folks  you  can’t  see  smell- 
ing around  among  the  flowers ! Suppose  you  was  to 
bump  heads  when  you  were  smelling  of  them.  It 
gives  me  the  creeps  to  think  of  it.  Hope  I ’ll  never 
run  against  one  of  them.  Must  you  go?  Well,  I ’m 
right  sorry.  When  you  and  Mrs.  Lyndsay  and  the 
rest  go  away,  my  old  head  will  have  a long  rest.” 

“ Shall  I send  you  some  books  ? ” 

"No.  I should  n’t  read  them.  I don’t  set  much 
store  by  books,  without  I have  some  one  to  talk  to, 
and  poor  Hiram  is  as  mum  as  a stone.  That ’s  the 
worst  of  our  long  winter.  Only  last  night  I was 
reading  the  Bible, — I do  read  that,  Miss  Anne,— and 
I came  upon  where  Christ  wrote  on  the  sand.  I just 
said  to  myself  I would  wait  about  that  till  I saw  you. 
I did  want  to  talk  it  over  right  away.” 

“ And  what  is  it  you  want  to  ask  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  suppose  Christ  wrote  in  the  sand  ? ” 

“ Who  can  tell  that,  Dorothy?” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  333 


“But  it  must  have  meant — Why  did  he  do  it?” 
“I  suppose,”  said  Anne,  thoughtfully,  “that  he 
wanted  to  let  the  woman  think  over  what  he  had 
said.  When  you  think  of  the  eyes  of  Christ  looking 
at  you,  Dorothy,  you  might  understand.” 

“I  see,  Miss  Anne.  That  woman  she  felt  awful 
bad,  I guess,  and  he  only  wanted  not  to  seem  to 
take  notice.  I would  n’t  ha’  thought  of  that  in  a year, 
not  if  I stayed  awake  all  night  every  night.” 

“Why  not  write  to  me  in  the  winter?  I should 
like  that.” 

“ Would  you  really  ? That  would  take  the  edge  off 
the  lonesomeness.  If  I did  n’t  say  c oh ! ’ every  now 
and  then,  of  evenings  when  the  green  wood  cracks 
and  the  sparks  fly,  I guess  I ’d  go  dumb  before  the 
birds  come  back.” 

“Well,  Dorothy,  that  is  settled.  I shall  write  first. 
Good-by!”  And,  with  Edward,  she  moved  slowly 
away  through  the  'broken  cross-lights  of  the  sunset 
glow. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


two  or  three  weeks  in  the 
;,  where  “ the  slow-growing 
do  patience  teach/’  and  the 
g,  effortless  waters  go  by  and 
only  merry  and  idle,  there 
s to  some  men  a sense  of  being 
at  home.  It  does  not  come  at  once.  We  are  all  of 
ns,  in  onr  busier  lives  of  varied  work  or  pleasure, 
actors  in  ever-changing  roles.  It  can  hardly  be  other- 
wise. Almost  the  simplest  lives  involve  some  use  of 
the  art  of  the  actor.  In  the  woods,  away  from  men 
and  their  struggles  and  ambitions,  with  the  absence 
of  need  to  be  this  or  that,  as  duty,  work,  or  social 
claims  demand,  we  lose  the  resultant  state  of  tension, 
of  being  on  guard.  It  is  readily  possible  to  notice 
this  effect  in  the  rapid  erasure  from  the  faces  of  the 
constantly  strained,  intellectual  workman  of  the  lines 
of  care  which  mark  the  features  of  those  on  whom,  in 
one  or  another  position,  the  world  relies  to  carry  its 
burdens. 

At  first,  on  passing  from  great  mental  occupation  to 
the  life  of  the  forest,  there  is  a period  of  unrest,  of 
vague  disappointment.  But  soon  or  late,  with  repose 
of  mind,  and  the  cessation  of  endless  claims  upon  the 
sentinel  senses,  arises  a distinct  and  less  explicable 

334 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


335 


indifference  to  what  a fortnight  back  was  important. 
Our  whole  world  of  relation  is  gradually  changed. 
The  passion,  strife,  and  more  or  less  worthy  motives  of 
the  great  camps  of  men  shrink  to  valueless  dimen- 
sions, so  that  we  look  back  and  wonder  how  this  or 
that  should  have  caused  us  a thought,  or  called  forth 
that  irritability  which  is  apt  to  be  the  offspring  of 
the  unceasing  strain  of  modern  life. 

At  last  we  lose  count  of  the  days,  and  acquire  a 
strange  impression  of  the  remoteness  of  the  tumult  of 
the  active  life  from  which  we  have  fled.  So  complete 
may  be  this  feeling  that  at  times  the  busy  past  seems 
to  fade  into  dreamy  unreality,  as  with  sense  of  relief 
we  give  ourselves  unresistingly  to  the  wholesome  in- 
fluence of  the  woodland  and  the  waters.  Much  of 
this  ease  of  mind  must  be  due  to  the  physical  well- 
being which  this  existence  surely  brings  to  those  who 
know  how  to  get  out  of  it  the  best  it  holds. 

This  calm  of  spirit,  and  this  feeling  of  perfect  full- 
ness of  bodily  health,  were  what  Archibald  Lyndsay 
unfailingly  secured  in  his  summer  holiday.  He  had 
become  careful  to  humor  the  pleasant  mood,  and  to  be 
annoyed  when  anything  took  place  which  forced  him 
even  for  an  hour  to  return  to  the  problems  of  the 
outer  world. 

Such  a summons  had  come  from  Anne.  She  had 
not  explained  why  she  had  spoken,  nor  could  she 
have  given  a reason  beyond  the  fact  that  she  and  he 
habitually  discussed  in  common  all  family  interests, 
and  that  it  was  not  always  quite  safe  for  Anne  to  talk 
of  them  to  Margaret.  That  gentle  little  woman  was 
indisposed  to  have  others,  as  she  said,  “ come  between 


336 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


her  and  her  children,”  and  was  in  fact  jealous,  with  a 
steadiness  of  jealousy  which  unwillingly  accepted  even 
love  as  an  excuse,  and  heard,  with  unreasoning  lack  of 
logic,  explanations,  advice,  or  comment,  which  another 
might  have  welcomed,  or  at  least  calmly  considered. 
Thus,  when  Anne  wished  to  influence  Margaret,  she 
was  apt  to  talk  to  the  husband,  who,  in  turn,  was 
shrewd  enough  to  profit  by  the  counsel  without  be- 
traying the  counselor. 

Archibald  Lyndsay’s  uneasiness  had  been  extreme 
from  the  time  Anne  had  spoken  of  Carington.  Now 
he  was  in  the  canoe  with  his  wife,  and  was  being 
poled  up-stream  by  the  two  Indians,  who  could  un- 
derstand but  little  of  the  rapid  speech  of  the  white 
man,  and  before  whom,  therefore,  he  could  talk  at 
ease.  Lyndsay  sat  with  his  back  to  the  bowman,  his 
wife  facing  him  and  lying  against  a pile  of  cushions. 
After  a little  he  said,  speaking  low : 

“ Margaret,  has  it  occurred  to  you  that  possibly  all 
this  unavoidable  intimacy  between  Rose  and  young 
Carington  might — well,  might  result  in  some  serious 
attachment,  and — ” 

“ Of  course,”  she  broke  in,  with  the  wife’s  privilege 
of  apprehending  more  than  the  husband  has  said, 
“ of  course,  any  one  — ” 

“ My  dear  Margaret,  I wish  you  would  listen  until 
I have  finished — ” 

“Very  well,  dear,  I will  listen.  I only  meant  to 
remind  you  that  I have  already  spoken  of  this,  and 
that  you  said  it  was  not  of  any  moment;  and  that 
I was  too  much  given  to  anticipating  trouble.  The 
fact  is,  Archie,  when  you  are  on  your  holiday,  you 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  337 


hate  to  have  anything  serious  brought  to  your  mind, 
and  you  are  pretty  apt  just  to  put  it  aside.” 

Lyndsay,  well  versed  in  the  fine  art  of  matrimonial 
diplomacy,  made  no  instant  reply  to  this  arraignment. 

“ Perhaps,  my  good  wife,  we  may  be  as  to  this  a 
little  alike.  When  you  are  very  full  of  a subject,  or 
have  decided  it  in  your  own  mind,  you  are  inclined 
not  to  hear  me  out.” 

“That  may  be  so.  I beg  pardon,  Archie.  What 
is  it  ? ” 

“ What  was  I saying  ? Where  was  I ? It  is  like 
taking  the  marker  out  of  a book  you  are  reading.” 

“You  were  saying  it  might  result  in  a serious 
attachment.” 

“Yes,  that  was  it;  or  something  to  that  effect. 
Perhaps  I should  not  have  been  quite  so  definite. 
Yes,  that  was  it.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  Rose  is  a 
girl  who  would  readily  be  captured  by — well,  by  a 
man  who  had  a chance  to  show  force  of  character, 
and  this  very  thing  has  happened.  You  know,  dear, 
in  the  ordinary  chances  of  life  these  opportunities 
are  rare,  but — well,  you  understand.” 

She  did ; and  also  she  had  a suspicion  that  this  bit 
of  social  reflection  was  somebody  else’s  wisdom. 

“ Has  Anne  mentioned  the  matter  ? ” 

“I  did  say  something  to  her  about  it  yesterday — 
no,  this  morning.” 

“ I would  much  rather,  Archie,  when  you  want  to 
discuss  the  children,  that  you  come  to  me  first.” 

Clearly  he  had  brought  this  on  himself.  She  went 
on : 

“Anne  is  ready  enough  to  interfere  without  being 
22 


338  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

given  an  excuse,  and  now,  I suppose  — She  has  not 
talked  to  Rose,  I trust  ? ” 

“ No,  my  dear.  She  has  not  and  never  will.  That 
would  be  very  unlike  Anne.” 

“ I don’t  know.  One  never  knows  what  to  expect.” 
“ But  you  do  now.  Have  you  noticed  of  late  how 
thin  Anne  looks  ? I sometimes  think  she  will  trouble 
none  of  us  very  long.” 

“ I think  you  are  rather  prone  to  exaggerate  about 
Anne.  She  is  n’t  well,  but  these  chronic  invalids 
outlast  the  healthy.”  Margaret  had  the  occasional 
hardness  of  the  very  tender.  “As  to  Rose,  it  is  as 
well  to  comprehend  the  matter,  and  then,  as  the  man 
seems  unexceptionable,  to  let  Rose  alone.” 

Mrs.  Lyndsay’s  good  sense  usually  kept  her  at  the 
end  on  the  ways  of  reasonable  decisions.  If  she 
could  always  have  acted  without  speaking,  she  would 
have  had  more  credit  for  wisdom.  But  acts  are  rare, 
and  speech  is  not  5 so  that  people  were  apt  to  say, 
“Margaret  Lyndsay  is  a very  good  woman,  but  not 
always  very  wise.”  Those  who  knew  her  best  did 
not  so  think,  and  especially  Lyndsay,  who  well  under- 
stood that  great  goodness  cannot  coexist  with  fool- 
ishness, because  the  more  valuable  goodness  must 
have  intelligence  for  one  parent.  There  are  people 
who  reflect  very  little  about  what  they  are  going  to 
say,  and  a great  deal  about  what  they  are  about  to  do : 
of  this  kind  was  Lyndsay’s  wife ; but  then,  under 
some  circumstances,  words  are  acts,  or  have  their 
force,  and  so  she  made  mischief  occasionally  for  her- 
self and  for  others. 

“I  quite  agree  with  you,  my  dear,”  he  replied.  “It 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


339 


were  best  left  to  Rose’s  good  sense.  In  the  end  you 
and  I are  sure  enough  to  agree.” 

“ Perhaps  you  might  give  Anne  a hint,  or  — shall 
I ? ” She  was  a trifle  afraid  of  her  sister-in-law. 

“It  won’t  be  required.  She  has  quite  our  own 
ideas  about  it  ” ; and  then  Margaret  knew  that  Anne 
had  fully  discussed  this  question  with  Lyndsay.  She 
did  not  like  it,  but  this  time  held  her  tongue. 

The  sun  was  low  when  they  drew  to  the  shore,  a 
little  above  the  point  where  Joe  had  left  his  dugout 
two  days  before.  The  oblong  white  box  of  a church 
stood  on  the  upland,  a dismal  architectural  symbol. 
Its  closed  doors  and  windows,  the  broken  steps  at  the 
entrance,  and  the  ragged,  storm-worn  paint  looked 
dreary  enough  to  Lyndsay  as  he  passed  with  his 
wife  through  the  open  gateway. 

“How  hideous  it  is!”  he  said.  “Would  not  you 
like  it,  my  dear  Margaret,  if  in  the  fall  I had  our 
boy  brought  home  to  rest  among  our  own  dead  ? ” 
“Very  much,  Archie.” 

“ It  shall  be  done,”  he  said. 

“ Thank  you.”  By  this  time  they  had  picked  their 
way  around  the  church  amidst  growth  of  thistles  and 
wild  raspberry  vines.  Lyndsay  led,  and  presently 
they  were  in  the  scantily-peopled  half-acre  back  of 
the  chapel.  He  stood  a moment,  confused. 

“ I don’t  see  the  stone,”  he  said. 

“ What  ? What  is  that  ? ” 

He  turned,  and  said  again,  “ I don’t  see  it ! ” 
Margaret  went  by  him  swiftly. 

“ It  was  here  ! here  ! ” and,  utterly  bewildered,  she 
stood,  looking  up  at  her  husband,  or  down  at  the 


340  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

grave,  and  then  around  her.  “Archie ! It  is  gone ! 
This  is — is  horrible.” 

Lyndsay  paused  a moment.  He  was  both  troubled 
and  perplexed ; but  the  intellectual  puzzle  was  upper- 
most, and,  as  usual  with  him,  was  merely  fed  with 
motives  for  action  and  decisions  by  the  shock  of 
horror  with  which  the  thing  affected  him.  As  for 
his  wife,  she  looked  down  again  at  the  trampled 
ground  and  broken  flower-stems,  and  then  saying, 
“ What  is  it  f Where  is  it  ? ” began  to  go  to  and  fro, 
irregularly,  among  the  graves,  and  along  the  tumb- 
ling stone  wall  of  the  inclosure. 

At  last  she  ran,  like  a scared  thing,  back  to  her 
husband,  threw  her  arms  about  him,  and  burst  into 
violent  sobbing. 

“Oh,  my  boy!  my  boy!”  she  cried.  Her  face 
twitched,  and  she  broke  out  into  unnatural  laughter. 
Lyndsay  caught  her  as  she  reeled  to  and  fro. 

“Take  care,  Margaret!  Margaret!  Be  quiet.  No 
more  of  this  ! I command  you  to  control  yourself ! ” 

As  he  spoke  he  lifted  her  slight  figure,  and  carried 
her  to  the  gate. 

“ Sit  down,”  he  said.  “ Now,  no  more  of  this  ! I 
want  your  clearest  head — your  help.” 

“Yes,  yes,  Archie,”  she  said.  “ I will  try.  I — oh, 
I could  n’t  help  it ! Don’t  scold  me.” 

His  eyes  filled.  “ No,  dear  love,  not  I.  But  keep 
still.  I want  to  look.  This  is  a mere  vulgar,  brutal 
theft.  Wait  a moment,  can  you  ? ” 

“Yes,  but  don’t  be  long.” 

He  walked  back  again  to  the  little  grave,  and  care- 
fully examined  the  place.  It  was  broken  and  battered 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


341 


by  large  footmarks,  and  these  led  away  toward  the 
low  stone  wall,  and  were  lost  in  the  underbrush  be- 
yond the  broken  fence-rail  on  the  far  side  of  the  un- 
used road.  He  saw  that  the  break  in  the  rail  was 
recent.  At  last  he  returned  to  his  wife. 

“The  grave,  dear,  is  not  disturbed.  Some  fool 
has  stolen  the  stone.  Come  with  me ; I want  to  go 
through  the  drift  yonder,  and  I do  not  want  to  leave 
you  alone.” 

She  stood  up,  and  followed  him  around  the  church, 
and  back  to  where  he  had  found  the  rail  broken.  “Ah, 
here  again  is  a footmark,”  he  said.  At  the  river  he 
walked  along  the  margin,  and  at  length  came  upon 
the  place  where  a dugout  had  been  drawn  up  and 
where  were  other  footprints  in  the  wet  clay  margin. 

“It  is  very  simple,”  he  said.  “We  shall  soon 
know.  But  why  any  man  should  do  such  a thing  I 
cannot  imagine.” 

“ He  ought  to  be  killed,”  said  our  quiet  Margaret. 

“That  will  do  for  the  present,”  he  said,  and  then 
called  to  his  men  to  drop  down  from  the  landing 
where  he  had  left  them.  In  a minute  or  two  they 
were  at  the  shore. 

“Now,  dear,”  he  said,  as  they  came  near,  “try  to 
keep  this  thing  a secret  for  the  few  days  left  us  here. 
It  is  an  intolerable  bit  of  wickedness,  possibly  of 
malice,  but  this  I do  not  believe.  The  more  quiet  we 
can  keep  it,  the  better  my  chance  of  discovering  who 
has  done  it.” 

“ I will  try ; but  Anne  ! ” 

“ Oh,  Anne,  of  course,  and  Rose  perhaps.  It  is  the 
men  who  must  not  know,  and  the  boys.” 

22* 


342 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“That  is  easier.  What  shall  you  do  about  it, 
Archie?  Who  could  have  been  so  cruel?” 

“Unusual  crime,”  he  said,  thoughtfully,  “has  com- 
monly unusual  causes.  I do  not  as  yet  know  what  I 
shall  do.  And  now,  dear,  let  us  not  discuss  it  any 
more.  And  will  you  tell  Anne,  or  shall  I ? ” 

“ I would  prefer  to  do  it  myself,  Archie.” 

As  the  sick  animal  knows  by  instinct  what  wild 
grasses  it  shall  eat,  this  woman  apprehended  her 
need  for  a woman’s  strength  and  sure  community  of 
feeling.  She  was  as  certain  to  fall  back  on  Anne’s 
opinion  or  help  in  the  end,  or  where  she  herself  was 
honestly  puzzled,  as  she  was  to  resent  her  sister-in- 
law’s  independent  assertion  of  her  right  to  have  a say 
where  the  question  was  one  as  to  which  Mrs.  Lyndsay 
thought  that  the  title  mother  or  wife  was  in  itself  a 
victorious  defense  of  all  decisions  needed  in  either 
capacity. 

In  this  present  trouble  it  was  a woman’s  help  she 
wanted.  She  had  been  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
close  to  an  hysterical  attack.  Without  the  forceful 
tonic  of  her  husband’s  call  upon  her  self-command, 
the  discipline  of  years  would  have  been  of  no  avail : 
she  would  have  been  entirely  routed.  As  it  was, 
there  had  been  sad  disorder  in  the  ranks  of  the  gov- 
erning qualities  of  a being  unused  to  yield  to  the  law- 
lessness of  unrestrained  emotion.  This  nearness  of 
defeat  was  more  or  less  due  to  the  preparative  soften- 
ing influences  with  which  she  came  to  say  a silent 
farewell  to  her  dead,  and  to  the  suddenness  of  the 
shock  of  horror  and  of  insult. 

None  turned  to  Anne  Lyndsay  in  vain.  As  Lynd- 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  343 


say  and  his  wife  approached  the  cabin,  where,  as  usual, 
Anne  was  lying  in  her  hammock,  she  saw  at  once  that 
something  had  gone  wrong.  Her  long  walk  was  ex- 
acting the  sad  price  of  all  physical  exertion  which 
took  her  beyond  the  limits  of  the  most  carefully  mea- 
sured exercise.  She  was  in  great  pain,  and,  for  a half 
hour,  had  been  resolutely  struggling  to  ignore  it  by 
forcing  herself  to  give  deliberate  attention  to  a difficult 
passage  in  the  second  part  of  “ Faust.”  She  dropped 
her  dictionary  as  they  came  up,  put  a marker  in  the 
page  she  had  been  reading,  and  rose  on  one  elbow. 

“ Go  and  talk  to  Anne,”  said  Lyndsay.  “ Is  Rose 
still  out,  sister  ? ” 

“Yes,-  and  the  boys,  except  Ned.  He  is  in  the 
wood,  somewhere.  I am  all  alone,  Margaret.  What 
is  it,  dear  ? ” 

“ Something  very  unpleasant  has  happened,  Anne ; 
nothing  serious — I mean,  no  personal  calamity.  Mar- 
garet will  explain.”  And  so  saying,  he  went  into 
the  cabin,  while  Mrs.  Lyndsay  sat  down  on  a low 
stool,  and,  letting  her  head  fall  on  Anne’s  bosom, 
began  to  cry.  But  this  time  she  had  herself  well  in 
hand,  and  the  burst  of  tears  was  wholesome,  as  Anne 
instantly  knew.  She  let  her  hand  fall  over  Margaret’s 
neck. 

“ Have  it  out,  dear,”  she  said.  “ A man  always  says, 
( Don’t  cry  ’ ; a woman  says,  ‘ Cry ; it  will  help  you.’ 
Cry  as  much  as  you  want  to.  God  knew  our  wants 
when  he  gave  us  tears.  No;  don’t  try  to  explain, — 
not  yet,  not  yet.”  And  the  reassuring  hand  put  back 
a stray  lock  of  hair,  and  rested  in  tender  caress  on  the 
wet  cheek. 


344  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Both  were  still  for  a few  minutes,  save  for  an  occa- 
sional sob. 

“Now  I am  better,  Anne.  I can  talk  now.  How 
well  you  know ! — what  is  it,  dear  ? ” she  added,  ab- 
ruptly, for  a brief  exclamation,  “ Oh,  my  God  ! ” broke 
from  Anne’s  lips.  She  was  in  the  extremity  of  phy- 
sical pain.  The  tone  and  words  were  unusual,  as  com- 
ing from  these  lips,  and  Margaret,  instantly  turning 
aside  from  her  own  trouble,  caught  the  look  of  suffering 
on  the  other  woman’s  face.  She  wiped  her  eyes  hastily. 

“Are  you  ill,  Anne  ? ” 

“Yes.  Oh,  not  ill!  I had  a stitch  in  my  poor 
old  side.”  Then  she  laughed  low.  “I  am  sure  it  is 
years  older  than  the  rest  of  me.  Get  me  your  smell- 
ing-salts.” 

Margaret  got  up  at  once  and  went  into  the  cabin. 
As  for  Anne,  smelling-salts,  hot- water  bags,  sedatives, 
and,  in  fact,  the  whole  armament  of  the  invalid,  were 
to  her  altogether  unpleasant.  But  now  she  was  in 
some  want  of  a minute  to  herself.  She  got  it,  and 
more,  for  Margaret  was  some  time  before  she  came 
out  with  the  smelling-salts  and  a flask. 

“No,  dear,”  said  Anne;  “no  brandy.”  She  used 
the  smelling-salts,  and  returned  them  to  her  sister- 
in-law.  “I  hate  all  scented  things.  I am  better 
now.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  don’t  hurry.  What 
is  it  ? ” 

“We  went  up  to  my  boy’s  grave,  and,  Anne,  Anne, 
some  one  had  trampled  it  all  over  — trod  on  my — 
my  dead ! ” 

“Well,  dear.  Take  care  ! Don’t  give  way,  or  you 
will  go  to  pieces.  There  ! What  else  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


345 


“And  some  cruel  brute  has  taken  away  the  tomb- 
stone. It  was  not  there.  Do  you  understand  ? ” she 
cried,  with  fierce  energy.  “They  stole  it!  It  is 
gone ! ” 

Anne  understood  well  enough ; but  the  fact,  as 
told  her,  was  so  strange,  so  unlooked  for,  that  she 
was  amazed  for  a brief  time  beyond  power  of  com- 
ment. The  next  moment  all  her  heart  went  out  to 
the  mother  at  her  side. 

“ It  is  horrible  ! ” she  cried.  “ Oh,  for  me,  even, 
for  me ! And  for  you,  what  must  it  be?”  She  saw, 
as  few  would  have  done,  the  broken  flower-fence,  the 
rudely  profaned  and  trampled  grave,  the  gap  in  the 
earth  where  the  stone  had  been.  “ For  me,  horrible  — 
but,  my  dear  God ! what  must  it  have  been  for  you ! ” 
“ Yes ; I am  his  mother ! ” She  was  moved  because 
Anne  did  not  pretend  to  share  the  maternal  inten- 
sity of  her  feelings.  “ Only  a mother  could  know. 
Archie  says  I must  not  think  about  it ; but  that  is 
beyond  my  power — I must  think  about  it.  Who 
could  have  done  it  ? I can’t  see  any  reason  in  the 
theft.  Do  you  think  it  could  have  been  to  annoy  us, 
or  to  get  a reward  ? I — ” 

“ No,”  said  Anne.  “ Neither.” 

“ Then  what  could  it  have  been  ? There  must  have 
been  a motive.” 

“Yes,  there  must  have  been.” 

“And  what?  We  are  liked,  I think,  on  the  river. 
We  do  try  to  help  these  people.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Who  could  have  done  it  ? ” 

“Joe  Colkett!” 


346  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Archibald ! Archibald ! ” cried  Margaret,  instantly 
rising.  He  came  out  at  once. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” 

“ Anne  says  Colkett  took  it ! ” 

“ What  does  this  mean,  Anne  ? ” he  said. 

“ Only  this : Rose  told  us  yesterday,  you  remember, 
that  Colkett  had  been  to  see  Dorothy  about  an  inscrip- 
tion for  a board  to  set  over  his  wife’s  children.  You 
heard  her  speak  of  it.” 

“ Yes ; but  what  then  ? ” 

“ That  man  is  the  thief ! ” 

“ You  are  a most  astonishing  woman,  Anne.  What 
reason  have  you  ? You  must  have  a reason.” 

“ I shall  have ; but  now,  as  yet,  I have  none.” 

“ I am  sorry,  then.  You  have  quite  upset  Margaret.” 
“ No.  I saw  the  man  take  it.” 

“ Saw  him  ? Nonsense  — I beg  pardon,  dear,  I don’t 
quite  mean  that.”  He  was  nice  always  in  his  home 
ways  with  the  women  he  loved.  “ I mean  that  you 
have  spoken  unadvisedly.” 

“Yes,  I had  no  advice  from  within  or  without,  for 
that  matter ; but  I know  that  man  is  the  thief.” 

“ It  is  a serious  charge.” 

“ It  is.  When  you  come  to  think  it  over,  you  will 
agree  with  me.” 

Lyndsay  was  silent  a moment.  Then  he  called, 
“Tom!  Tom ! I am  going  up  to  the  Island  Camp; 
put  the  canoe  in  the  water.” 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do,  Archie  ? ” asked  Mar- 
garet. 

“ I want  to  talk  to  Carington.  He  knows  all  these 
people ; has  known  them  for  years.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  347 


u Shall  you  tell  him  what  my  own  belief  is?”  said 
Anne. 

u Certainly ! Why  not  ? ” 

“ But,”  exclaimed  Margaret,  “ do  you  not.  think  — ” 

“No.  No,  dear,  I don’t  think  at  all  as  yet.  I have 
no  material  for  thinking  — very  little,  at  least.”  He 
spoke  with  unhabitual  impatience.  “ Evidence  is  what 
we  want.” 

He  was  annoyed  by  this  mysterious  crime  in  the 
midst  of  his  idle  hours ; troubled  by  his  wife’s  distress,- 
and  finally,  if  but  to  a slight  extent,  irritated  at 
Anne’s  unreasoning  dash  at  a decisive  conclusion. 
Perhaps  he  was  the  more  disturbed  because,  on  hear- 
ing her,  he  had  at  once  begun  to  put  together  facts, 
always  within  his  own  knowledge,  which  he  felt  should 
have  caused  him  to  have  gone,  under  guidance  of 
reason,  toward  the  goal  which  she  had  reached  at  a 
bound. 

“ I shall  be  back  in  three  or  four  hours.  Do  not 
keep  the  dinner  waiting.  Good-by.” 

“ But,  Archibald,  do  listen  to  me.  It  is  not  about 
— about  this  — ” And  she  followed  him  as  she  spoke, 
and,  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  said  a few  words  hastily, 
but  with  earnestness. 

“ No,”  he  said,  so  that  Anne  heard.  “ I see  — I see, 
of  course ; but  there  is  no  help  for  it  ; and,  after  all, 
Carington  is  not  a man  — ” And  the  rest  was  lost  to 
Anne’s  ear. 

“ Perhaps  not,”  said  Margaret.  “I  suppose  you 
know  best.”  And  she  went  back  to  Anne. 


CHAPTER  XXYII 

! HEN  Lyndsay  walked  up  the  beach 
at  the  Island  Camp,  it  was  already 
dark.  In  the  dinner-tent,  on  camp- 
stools,  the  two  men  were  gaily  dis- 
cussing such  events  as  in  a fishing 
camp  are  always  uppermost  — how 
this  or  that  salmon  behaved,  the  weather,  the  water, 
or  the  eternal  black-flies. 

The  cook  had  just  set  on  the  table  a dish  of  broiled 
salmon,  and  said,  as  he  did  so : 

“ There  7s  a canoe  at  the  beach  — Mr.  Lyndsay,  I 
think." 

“ Come  to  ask  your  intentions,  Fred,”  said  Ellett, 
laughing. 

“ Hush,  I hear  him  coming.  I wonder  what  it  is 
he  wants.”  As  Carington  spoke,  he  threw  open  the 
fly  of  the  tent.  u Come  in,  Mr.  Lyndsay  ; you  are 
just  in  time.  Bring  the  soup  back,  Jim.” 

“ Thanks.  How  are  you,  Mr.  Ellett?  Yes,  I will 
dine  with  you,  and  with  pleasure.  No  soup,  thank 
you,”  and  he  sat  down. 

For  a while  there  was  the  ordinary  talk  of  the 
river,  and  when,  finally,  they  were  left  with  the  to- 
bacco and  cigars,  Lyndsay  having  declined  the 
. , he  said: 


348 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  349 


“ I came  up  to  get  a little  help  from  yon.  We  have 
had  to-day  a very  singular  and  quite  unpleasant  in- 
cident. There  is  no  one  can  overhear  us  ? ” 

“ No  one.  I need  hardly  say  how  heartily  we  are 
at  your  service.  Pray  go  on.  May  I ask  what  has 
troubled  you  ? ” 

“Of  course.  I came  to  tell  you,  and  then  to  ask 
your  help  or  advice.  You  know  all  these  river  men  ? ” 
“Almost  all,  even  the  lumber-gangs.” 

“I  thought  so.  I shall  be  brief.  Last  year  we 
buried  my  youngest  child  here.  I had  set  up  at  the 
head  of  the  grave  a simple  white  stone.  To-day  I 
went  up  with  Mrs.  Lyndsay  to  see  that  it  was  all  in 
order.  To  our  horror  the  stone  was  gone.  Of  course 
my  wife  was  painfully  disturbed.  The  grave  was 
trampled  ; the  wild  rose-bushes  we  had  set  around  in 
a little  thicket  were  beaten  down.  That  is  the  whole 
story.  I am,  as  you  may  fancy,  greatly  annoyed.  I 
felt  that,  with  your  knowledge  of  the  men  hereabouts, 
you  might  possibly  give  me  some  clue.  I owe  you 
every  apology,”  and  he  turned  to  Ellett,  “ for  thrust- 
ing so  personal  a calamity  into  the  hours  of  a holiday, 
but  — ” 

“You  could  not  have  found  two  people  more 
willing.” 

“Thank  you.” 

“Let  me  ask  you  a few  questions,”  said  Carington. 
“ Of  course.” 

The  young  man  reflected  a moment,  and  then  in 
quick  succession  put  his  queries. 

“ Have  you  gone  over  the  place  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  and  he  told  the  little  he  had  seen. 


350  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Was  it  a dugout ? ” 

“ Yes,  I think  so.” 

“I  will  look  to-morrow,  early.  Were  there  several 
people  ? ” 

“The  foot-marks  seemed  alike  — the  usual  many- 
nailed  boot.  I did  not  measure  them.” 

“ I will.  The  beach  is  clay  up  there.  Has  any  one 
cause  to  injure  you  ? ” 

“ No  one.  My  wife  has  been,  as  usual,  all  goodness 
to  these  poor  people.” 

“ I see  no  possible  motive,”  said  Ellett. 

“Wait  a bit,  Oliver.  The  grave  had  not  been 
opened  ? ” 

“ Great  Heaven ! No.” 

“Why  should  a man  want  a tombstone?”  said 
Ellett.  “ An  insane  person  might  have  done  it.” 
“No,”  returned  Carington,  thoughtfully.  “No, 
there  are  none  here.  No,  some  one  wanted  that  stone. 
Why ! — by  George,  I hate  to  suspect  the  poor  devil ! ” 
“Who?” 

“It  is  a mere  guess,  a suspicion.  I have  an  idea 
that  Joe  Colkett  stole  that  stone.” 

“ It  is  a little  odd.  That,  exactly,  is  my  sister’s 
conclusion.” 

“Indeed!” 

“ Yes.  Being  a woman,  she  had  no  reason  to  give, 
or  none  worth  anything : and  yet  I myself  am  enough 
inclined  to  agree  with  her  to  want  to  make  sure  as  to 
whether  there  is  any  evidence  to  be  had.  It  is  a thing 
to  punish.” 

“I  think  so.  The  man  is  in  pretty  sore  straits 
about  money.  But  it  cannot  be  any  motive  involving 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


351 


money,  and  yet  — however,  it  is  useless  to  talk  about 
it.  The  first  thing  is  to  go  over  the  ground  with  care. 
Let  me  do  that  — early  to-morrow.  Ah,  to-day  is 
Wednesday;  I must  go  to  Mackenzie  to-morrow.  That 
I can’t  let  wait.  A man  is  to  meet  me  there  about 
my  cabin.  Can  this  thing  rest  a day  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I shall  stay  over  Sunday.  We  had  meant  to 
go  out  on  Saturday  .” 

“ Then  I will  call  late  to-morrow  night  for  your  boy 
— as  we  come  back,  I mean.” 

u One  moment : I have  thought  best  not  to  tell  the 
boys.  It  can  do  no  good.” 

“ None.  On  our  return  toward  camp,  I will  man- 
age to  send  Jack  off,  and  will  myself  slip  down  to  Col- 
kett’s,  and  will  look  about  me.  If  necessary,  I can 
talk  it  out  frankly.  I think  I could  know  in  five  min- 
utes all  the  man  knows,  if  he  is  in  the  thing  at  all.” 
“ But  you  won’t  forget  my  warning,  Mr.  Carington. 
Joe  is  a poor  sodden  dog,  but  the  woman  is  a devil.” 
Carington  smiled.  “ Oh,  I shall  have  my  rifle ; and, 
after  all,  what  could  a woman  do  ? There  is  no  man- 
ner of  risk.”  He  did  not  say  that  the  notion  of  there 
being  some  peril  in  the  matter  made  the  enterprise 
more  attractive.  There  were  other  motives  also  which 
were  not  disagreeable,  and  of  these,  too,  he  made  no 
mention. 

“Well,  promise  me  to  be  on  your  guard.” 

“It  all  seems  rather  absurd,  but  I shall  keep  my 
eyes  open.  I may  be  very  late  to-morrow  night.  Tell 
Jack,  and,  by  the  way,  if  it  is  late,  I shall  have  to 
keep  your  money  until  Friday  evening,  or  Ellett  can 
take  it  to  you.  Send  me  the  draft  to-night.” 


352  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

"I  have  it  with  me”;  and  he  handed  it  across  the 
table. 

“I  think,”  said  Carington,  “I  would  ignore  the 
whole  matter  until  I see  you  on  Friday  night.  I 
would  fish,  as  usual.” 

“I  think  so.”  He  had  asked  advice  and  help,  and 
this  very  decisive  young  man  had  certainly  given  it. 
“ Thank  you  a thousand  times,”  he  said,  as  he  rose ; 
u you  have  really  relieved  me,”  and  then  he  went  away. 

In  his  canoe  he  reflected  a little  on  the  mental  peculi- 
arity which  made  Anne  and  Carington  prompt  to 
conclude  where  he  had  been  so  tardy  in  reaching  a 
decision.  Anne  had  once  said  of  him  that  his  mind 
lacked  wings,  but  was  very  sure  on  its  legs.  He 
reached  home  late,  and  rather  weary.  Anne  said  Rose 
had  been  told,  and  that  Margaret  had  behaved  admir- 
ably ; also  that  the  boys  had  no  suspicion  of  the  events 
which  had  distressed  their  elders. 

The  lives  of  men  are  lived  under  the  limited  mon- 
archy of  circumstance.  Within  this,  men’s  instincts 
and  personal  qualities  — in  a word,  character  — de- 
cide how  they  deal  with  the  stringency  of  events,  or 
meet  the  despotism  of  changeless  natural  laws. 

Carington  was  about  to  feel  the  results  of  a combi- 
nation of  influences,  some  within  and  some  outside 
of  those  due  to  mental  and  moral  peculiarities  entirely 
his  own. 

What  I saw  in  an  idle  hour  may  serve  to  illustrate 
my  meaning.  The  reader  has  my  benevolent  per- 
mission to  leave  it  unread.  I was  once  lying  on  my 
couch  of  spruce  in  a rude  log-cabin  on  the  Alligash 
River.  It  was  raining  heavily,  and  we  had  left  our 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  353 


tents  awhile  for  the  more  perfect  shelter  of  a deserted 
log-cabin  where  the  lumbermen  had  wintered  years 
before  my  coming.  Apparently  for  reasons  as  good 
as  our  own,  many  live  things  had  come  hither — some 
for  a permanent  home,  and  some,  like  Noah’s  menag- 
erie, for  temporary  protection.  A splendidly  con- 
structed spider’s  net  occupied  the  open  space  where  a 
window-pane  had  been.  The  three  remaining  panes 
were  intact.  It  was  a happy  thought  of  that  spider : 
when  flies  at  noon  sought  the  cool  shade  of  the  house, 
this  open  pane  seemed  to  offer  a way,  and,  when  the 
sun  fell,  the  path  of  exit  was  as  inviting.  The  net  was 
well  stocked,  as  I saw,  but  mostly  these  corpses  were 
dead  shells,  out  of  which  the  succulent  meats  had 
been  taken.  Nevertheless,  the  deadly  retiarius  lay 
coiled  in  a corner,  as  eager  as  if  he  had  never  had  a 
breakfast.  As  to  the  flies,  who  were  many,  they  seemed 
to  be  as  ignorant  of  the  net’s  thin  lines  as  men  are  of 
the  fatal  meshes  which  circumstance  spins  in  the  way 
of  human  flies,  or  which  character  weaves  when  the 
fly  is  his  own  spider.  The  spaces  between  the  anchor- 
ing cables  were  wide.  Most  of  the  flies  went  through 
quite  unaware  how  near  they  had  been  to  death. 
Some  got  into  the  toils  and  struggled  out,  and  then 
went  and  sat  down  in  dark  corners,  and  reflected  on 
free-will  and  predestination.  At  last  a queer-look- 
ing, yellowish  fly  got  into  trouble.  He  was  physically 
odd-looking,  and  as  to  mental  organization  clearly 
distinct  from  the  herd  of  flies.  He  was  evidently 
adventurous  and  on  a holiday.  He  was  in  and  out  of 
the  room,  between  the  long  net  lines,  half  a dozen 
times.  “ That  is  luck ! ” said  I.  “ The  goddess  Wyrda 

23 


354  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

has  smiled  on  him  ! ” At  last  he  struck  the  net,  and 
was  caught.  In  place  of  struggling,  he  kept  still  a 
moment,  while  the  spider  ran  out  and  made  a recon- 
naissance. Then  my  fly  gave  a kick  and  a flutter, 
and  was  off  and  away.  “Luck  and  strength,”  said  I. 
By  and  by  he  sailed  past  me,  and  sat  down  to  dine  on 
the  sweet  margins  of  some  ponds  of  molasses  — the 
relics  of  our  lunch.  Being  a little  too  eager,  he  got 
his  legs  in  the  sweets,  and  then  his  wings.  Not  liking 
this,  he  flew  away,  and,  after  a disorderly  flight,  made 
for  the  window,  where  he  hit  the  center  of  the  net. 
This  time  I got  up  to  observe  the  affair  closely.  He 
made  a brave  fight,  but  the  molasses  on  his  sticky  legs 
was  the  determining  circumstance.  The  net-thrower 
crawled  up  with  caution,  when,  of  a sudden,  a great 
bee,  humming  in  its  flight,  went  like  a Minie  ball 
through  the  net,  and  the  spider  fled,  and  the  fly  tum- 
bled out  — and  this  was  the  end.  I felt  as  if  I had 
been  a superior  being  who,  from  the  vantage  of  a 
higher  sphere,  had  been  watching  one  of  earth’s  num- 
berless dramas.  He  would  have  seen  how  instincts, 
character,  and  circumstance  combine  to  determine  the 
fates  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


HERE  are  few  things  more  interest- 
ing than  to  observe  in  a qniet  fam- 
ily the  effects  of  an  explosion  of 
the  unusual.  Assuredly,  what  had 
happened  to  the  Lyndsays  was  un- 
common. There  is  family  charac- 
ter just  as  there  is  national  character.  Individuality 
is  more  or  less  dominated  by  it.  Among  those  with 
whom  we  are  dealing  the  endless  discussions  which 
in  some  groups  of  human  beings  are  wasted  on  a 
matter  of  annoyance  — a calamity  or  a grievance  — 
were  quite  unknown.  At  need  they  talked  over  their 
troubles  or  difficulties,  and  put  them  aside  when  de- 
cisions were  once  attained. 

Anne  was  fond  of  saying,  “ Talk  is  a wedge  which 
widens  troubles.  When  you  think,  you  are  talking 
to  yourself  alone,  and  are  responsible  for  the  conse- 
quences; it  is  hard  so  to  weigh  words  as  to  know 
what  weight  they  will  have  for  others.”  And  thus  it 
was  that  even  about  her  most  unbearable  pain  she 
said  nothing,  and  disliked  all  discussions  which  led 
to  no  working  opinion.  Mrs.  Lyndsay  alone  was 
given  to  seeking  sympathy  in  her  small  ailments; 
but  Anne,  as  she  herself  once  observed,  u wore  neither 
her  heart  nor  her  liver  on  her  sleeve.”  And  this  was 

355 


356  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

the  general  tone.  If  talk  was  needed  to  settle  a 
thing,  there  was  enough,  and  no  more.  Lyndsay 
liked  to  say,  “And  now  we  will  put  it  aside,  my  dear.” 
He  had  thus  ended  a talk  with  his  wife,  who  was 
disposed  to  say  far  more. 

To  all  of  them  the  unpleasant  event  I have  re- 
corded brought  a sense  of  horror.  But  the  primary 
mood  of  anger  or  disgust  gave  way  to  some  other 
form  of  mental  or  moral  activity,  which  varied  with 
the  person.  Lyndsay  simply  and  directly  occupied 
himself  with  the  slight  evidence  he  had,  and  en- 
deavored to  reach  a conclusion  as  to  the  criminal. 
Anne  fell  to  thinking  with  interest  of  the  motives  of 
the  criminal,  and  as  to  what  possible  temptation 
could  make  her  desire  to  do  such  an  act.  The  mother 
remained  in  a state  of  somewhat  lessened  emotional 
disturbance,  wanting  some  one  to  talk  to  of  it  all,  but 
finding  none  save  Rose,  who  had  no  power  to  repress 
her. 

Thus  Thursday  passed  quietly  enough  at  the  Cliff 
Camp.  Mr.  Lyndsay  wisely  went  a-fishing,  and  took 
Rose.  It  was  pitiably  true  that,  for  Mrs.  Lyndsay, 
the  incident  of  the  day  before  had  renewed  the  grief 
which  time  had  begun  to  heal.  She  wondered  how 
Archie  could  go  and  fish.  She  even  made  a mild  at- 
tempt to  keep  her  daughter  at  home;  but  Lyndsay 
resolutely  persisted,  and  had  his  way.  Left  to  her- 
self, Margaret  devoted  the  morning  to  coddling  Anne, 
which  resulted,  for  the  latter,  in  a condition  of  re- 
strained irritability  which  was  almost  too  much  even 
for  this  heroic  woman.  At  last  she  took  refuge  in 
her  room. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


357 


Jack  spent  the  day  in  cleaning  his  rifle,  and  Dick 
in  stuffing  a kingfisher,  while  Ned  bothered  him 
with  questions  which  not  Solomon  could  have  an- 
swered. As  to  Carington,  he  asked  Ellett  to  go  up 
to  the  church  and  make  careful  measurements  of  the 
footsteps,  as  this,  by  relieving  him  of  the  task,  would 
enable  him  to  get  away  earlier  for  his  long  paddle  to 
Mackenzie. 

At  dawn,  Carington,  with  his  two  men,  in  their 
canoe,  went  by  the  Cliff  Camp,  where  all  was  peace- 
fully still. 

At  the  little  town  he  made  his  own  arrangements 
for  the  building  of  his  cabin  in  the  fall,  and  cashed  a 
draft  for  himself  and  one  for  Mr.  Lyndsay.  The 
seven  hundred  dollars  of  Canadian  notes  he  rolled 
into  a tight  bundle  and  put  in  his  breeches-pocket. 
Then,  after  a hasty  meal  and  a little  rest,  he  turned 
back  for  the  journey  up  the  river. 

There  was  some  paddling  to  do  until  they  reached 
swift  water,  and  here  he  “ spelled  ” his  bowmen,  tak- 
ing a turn  at  poling,  and  pushed  on.  Three  miles  an 
hour  is  very  good  speed  at  this  business,  and  thus,  as 
the  way  was  long,  it  was  far  into  the  night  before 
they  reached  the  Cliff  Camp.  Every  one  else  but 
Jack  was  in  bed.  He  had  taken  his  blanket  and  gun, 
and  settled  himself  patiently  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

“Is  that  you,  Nimrod?”  said  Carington. 

“Yes.” 

“ You  have  had  a long  wait.  Is  your  father  up  ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then  I must  keep  this  money  until  Ellett  can 
give  it  to  him  to-morrow.  Jump  in.  It  is  late.” 

23* 


358  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

In  five  minutes  the  boy  was  asleep  in  the  bottom 
of  the  canoe.  Carington  began  to  think  over  what  he 
should  do  next  day  about  the  tombstone  business. 

At  his  own  camp-ground  it  took  him  some  five 
minutes  to  restore  Jack,  for  a time,  to  the  world  of 
the  wakeful,  and  Carington  himself  was  glad  enough 
to  find  his  own  couch. 

Before  dawn,  Michelle  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

“ You  are  pretty  hard  to  wake,  Mr.  Carington.” 

‘'Am  I?  What  is  it?  Oh,  we  are  going  after 
bears.  Hang  the  bears ! ” He  rubbed  his  eyes,  sat 
up,  and  said  to  Michelle,  “Wake  that  boy.  It  will 
take  ten  minutes.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

After  Jack’s  blanket  was  pulled  away,  and  he  him- 
self rolled  on  to  the  tent-floor,  he  began  to  wake  up. 

“ Coffee  ready  and  lunch  in  knapsack,  Michelle?” 

“All  right,  sir.” 

Carington  got  up,  and,  laughing  at  the  guide’s  dif- 
ficulty in  reviving  Jack,  went  down  to  the  beach,  had 
a cold  — a very  cold  — dip,  and  in  a few  minutes  was 
dressed  and  ready,  while  Jack,  but  half  awake,  was 
making  a boy’s  still  briefer  toilet. 

Meanwhile  Carington  looked  into  Ellett’s  tent,  and, 
seeing  him  sound  asleep,  hesitated  a moment  as  to 
waking  him,  in  order  to  give  into  his  charge  the 
money  he  had  drawn.  As  he  was  about  to  speak, 
Michelle  called  out: 

“ Halloa ! Canoe ’s  adrift ! Take  care,  Jack.  Pad- 
dle her  in.” 

Carington  ran  out  of  the  tent,  and  saw  that  Jack 
was  again  ashore.  He  had  put  his  gun  and  other 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  359 


traps  in  the  boat,  and  then,  jumping  in  hastily  to  ar- 
range them,  had  caused  the  canoe  to  slip  off  into  the 
current.  The  slight  break  thus  caused  in  Carington’s 
mental  processes  made  him  for  the  time  forget  his 
intention.  Ten  minutes  later  he  remembered  it,  as 
they  were  flying  down-stream,  and  his  hand  chanced  % 
to  fall  on  the  bulging  packet  of  notes  in  his  pocket. 

“ Confound  it ! 77  he  exclaimed.  “ I forgot  it.  It  is 
hardly  worth  while  to  go  back,  Jack.  I meant  to 
leave  the  money  I drew  with  Mr.  Ellett.  I fancy  it 
is  safe  enough.77  Then  he  proceeded  to  secure  the 
pocket  with  a pin,  saying,  “We  won7t  go  back.  It  is 
late,  as  it  is.77 

“I  was  thinking  that,77  said  Jack,  to  whom  bears 
were  of  far  more  importance  than  the  balance  in  the 
national  treasury. 

“I  meant  to  wake  myself  earlier,  Jack;  but  I was 
pretty  tired.  Usually  I can  wake  when  I please.77 

“ I did  think  you  were  up,  sir,77  said  Michelle. 
“You  were  a-saying  things  about  roses  when  I 
touched  you.77 

“Was  I! 77 

“Yes.  Just,  ‘Rose — -Rose7 — like  that.77 

“ That  7s  queer,77  remarked  Jack. 

“No.  I am  rather  fond  of  flowers,  more  so  than 
most  men.  By  the  way,  Jack,  you  are  a first-class 
performer  in  your  sleep.  If  the  wedding-guest  had 
heard  your  loud  bassoon,  I don7t  know  what  he  would 
have  done.77 

“ Who  was  the  1 wedding-guest 7 ? 77 

“ Ask  Miss  Rose.77 

“ I shall  say  you  told  me  to  ask.77 


360  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ That  is  hardly  necessary.  Read  the  poem  — ‘ The 
Ancient  Mariner/  I mean.” 

“ I don’t  care  much  for  poetry  stuff.” 

“ Don’t  you  ? Well,  you  were  pretty  musical  about 
3 A.  m.”  Then  he  played  a little  with  the  matter  of 
his  rosy  dream.  “I  think,  Jack,  that  very  often 
dreams  like  this  of  mine  seem  to  be  the  outcome  of 
some  quite  trivial  event  rather  than  of  the  larger  things 
of  life.  A day  or  two  back  I was  trying  to  pick  a rose, 
and  pricked  my  finger.  I did  n’t  get  the  rose,  but 
I — meant  to.  I suppose  that  thorn  stuck  into  some 
pincushion  of  the  mind.  Odd,  was  n’t  it  ? ” 

“I  dreamed  about  bears  for  a week  after  that 
beastly  circus  on  the  beach.” 

“No  wonder,”  and  they  laughed.  “I  don’t  think 
dreams  very  interesting,  Jack ; but  twice  in  my  life  I 
have  chanced  to  see  dreams  produce  some  very 
strange  results.  See  how  the  mists  are  melting 
away.” 

“ What  was  it  about — the  dreams  ? ” 

“One,  Jack,  I cannot  tell  you.  The  other  I can. 
I had  a guide  in  the  Wind  River  country  who  used 
to  talk  in  his  sleep.  Several  times  when  we  were 
alone  in  the  hills  he  woke  me  up  by  the  noise  he 
made.  I used  to  whistle  to  quiet  him  long  enough 
to  give  me  a chance  to  fall  asleep.  It  is  a good  re- 
cipe to  stop  snoring.  I tried  it  on  you.” 

“ Dick  can  beat  me  all  hollow ! But  please  go  on, 
Mr.  Carington.” 

“Well,  one  night  he  kept  at  it  so  long,  and  talked 
so  plainly,  that  I gave  up  in  despair  and  listened. 
He  was  unusually  excited  this  time.  I heard  him 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  361 


say,  ‘ Kill  him  ! Kill  him  ! ’ Then  he  groaned  and 
rolled  over  and  groaned  so  that  I thought  he  had  a 
nightmare.  At  last  he  sang  out,  ‘ Let  me  go ! I 
did  n’t  do  it.’  After  this  I whistled  ‘ Yankee  Doodle,’ 
and  it  acted  like  a charm.  Next  morning  at  break- 
fast I said,  ‘ Whom  were  you  murdering  in  the  night, 
and  were  they  really  going  to  hang  you,  Billy  ? ’ 
When  I said  this  he  looked  at  me  sharply,  and  I saw 
he  did  not  like  it.  He  asked  what  he  had  said.  I 
thought  it  best  to  say  as  little  as  possible,  and  so 
replied,  ‘You  might  have  been  killing  bears,  Billy.’ 
I saw  he  did  not  believe  me.  All  day  long  that  fel- 
low was  restless  and  uneasy.  He  twice  missed  an 
elk,  and  he  was  a perfect  shot.” 

“That  was  bad,”  remarked  Jack. 

“That  was  n’t  all.  When  I woke  next  morning 
Bill  was  gone.  I never  saw  him  again,  and  I had  a 
pretty  hard  time  getting  back.” 

“ Do  you  think  he  had  killed  somebody  ? ” 

“ Probably.  Folks’  consciences  seem  to  get  a grip 
of  them  in  sleep,  and  to  go  to  sleep  themselves  in  the 
daytime.  It ’s  a queer  enough  story.” 

As  they  talked  the  paddles  were  busy,  the  mist 
melted,  and  they  ran  swiftly  down-stream  a mile  or 
more  below  the  Cliff  Camp.  Here,  at  a bend,  where 
the  river  made  a bold  curve  to  the  northwest,  th6y 
ran  ashore. 

“ That  will  do,  Michelle.  Be  on  the  lookout  about 
six  or  seven  to  put  us  over.  Come,  Jack.  Give  me 
the  knapsack.  Do  not  load  yet.”  As  he  spoke  they 
left  the  shore,  and  Carington,  leading,  struck  into 
the  woods. 


362  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

They  walked  slowly  through  a tangled  wilderness 
of  trees,  dead  and  alive,  set  in  perplexing  under- 
growth, Carington  explaining  his  plans  to  the  boy 
as  they  tramped  along. 

“We  shall  go  up  the  hill  to  left,  over  the  crest  and 
down  on  to  Loon  Lake.  It  is  a mere  pond,  but  the 
berries  are  thick  on  the  far  side,  and,  although  now 
there  are  none,  the  bears  have  a habit  of  going  there. 
We  shall  read  our  fortune  clear  when  we  get  on  the 
shore.” 

“ By  the  tracks  on  the  edge  ? ” 

•Wes.  The  deep  print  of  the  foot  makes  little 
pools ; and  if  the  water  in  these  is  still  muddy,  the 
prints  are  recent,*  if  not,  we  shall  get  no  chance.” 

“ I see.” 

“ Out  in  the  Rockies  we  used  to  stir  up  the  mud  in 
the  old  prints  with  a stick  so  as  to  fool  the  other 
fellows.  It  is  an  ancient  trick.  By  the  way,  Jack, 
at  evening  I shall  set  you  on  the  ox-track  to  the  west 
of  Colkett’s.  I saw  two  porcupines  there  a day  or 
two  back.  I will  go  straight  down  the  mountain  to 
Colkett’s.  I shall  be  but  a few  minutes  at  Joe’s.  I 
want  to  arrange  about  lumber  for  my  cabin.  If  you 
see  no  game,  don’t  wait,  but  take  the  cross  track  to 
Colkett’s.  You  can’t  miss  it.  It  starts  back  of  the 
big  boulder  in  the  clearing  on  the  left,  as  you  face 
the  river.” 

“And  you  will  meet  me  ? ” 

“Yes.  Perhaps  before  you  quit  the  open.” 

“ I understand.” 

“The  road  does  n’t  go  all  the  way  to  Joe’s,  but  I 
shall  be  on  it  before  you.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  363 


“Yes.” 

“ Be  very  careful  how  you  shoot.  Colkett’s  is  not 
far,  and  the  river  in  the  other  direction  none  too 
wide,  and  rifle-balls  travel  a long  way.” 

“Yes,  I will  be  careful.” 

“And  don't  carry  your  gun  that  way.  So  — that  's 
better.” 

It  was  full  noon  and  cloudy  as  they  walked  noise- 
lessly down  the  slope  to  the  lonely  little  pond  in  the 
lap  of  the  hills.  At  last  they  paused  among  a mass 
of  boulders. 

“ Now,  keep  still.  I ordered  a man  up  last  evening 
late  to  put  a black  kelt  on  the  beach  at  the  far  side, 
where  a brook  comes  in.  I fancied  it  might  fetch  Mr. 
Bear.”  So  saying,  Carington  adjusted  his  glass,  and 
searched  with  care  the  curved  line  of  the  farther  shore. 

“ Look  there  ! It  ?s  a good  half-mile  or  more.” 

The  boy  took  the  glass. 

“ There  are  some  water-weeds  in  a bunch,  and 
above — oh,  a black  thing ! A bear  ! ” 

“ Come,”  said  Carington,  “ you  will  want  a skin 
for  Miss  Rose.  Come.” 

The  boy  went  after  him,  and  the  long  walk  around 
the  lake  began.  The  way  was  hard. 

“We  must  go  well  back  up  over  that  hill,  and  then 
down  the  gorge  which  carries  the  stream.” 

At  times  the  elder  person  glanced  back  at  the  noise- 
less, tough  little  fellow.  “ Tired  ? ” he  said,  as  they 
broke  with  care  through  the  alders. 

“Awful,”  said  Jack. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  as  they  left  the  lake,  they 
came  on  a bit  of  old  burnt  land,  and  here  the  way 


364  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

was  even  harder.  Myriads  of  dead  pines,  spruces, 
and  firs,  interlaced  in  tumbled  ruin,  made  progress 
difficult.  Now  it  was  a giddy  walk,  twelve  feet  in 
air,  along  a slippery  trunk,  now  a crawl  under  spiky 
and  splintered  stems.  Again  Carington  looked  back, 
and  began  to  understand  the  value  of  the  qualities  of 
endurance,  strength,  and  grip  of  purpose,  with  which 
the  boy  pursued  his  way. 

At  length,  hot,  brier-scratched,  and  weary,  they  came 
out  on  the  hilltop.  Jack  was  for  immediate  march, 
but  Carington  said : 

“No.  Get  cool;  you  could  not  hit  a barn-door 
now.  Lie  down  a bit.  You  will  want  to  be  fully 
rested.  As  for  me,  I am  half  dead,”  and  he  dropped 
on  the  scant  soil.  “ Fine,  is  n’t  it  ? ” 

A great  sea  of  lesser  hills  was  all  around  them, 
with  here  and  there  a rare  sparkle  of  silver  from  dis- 
tant windings  of  the  river. 

As  for  Jack,  who  lay  on  the  summit,  his  eyes  were 
eagerly  searching  the  ravine  down  which  they  were 
to  go. 

“A  friend  of  mine  — oh,  drop  that  bear,  Jack; 
he  ’ll  keep  — a friend  of  mine  says  that  to  enjoy  a 
view  like  this  one  must  walk  up.  He  has  a notion 
that  somehow  the  exercise  absolutely  increases  your 
mental  power  to  get  the  best  out  of  it.” 

Jack  was  not  clear  as  to  this,  and  he  said  so. 

“ I don’t  understand  it  myself.  I do  not  know  why 
it  is  true,  but  it  is  true  — for  me,  at  least.” 

“Maybe  because  it ’s  hard  work,”  said  Jack. 

He  could  not  get  his  idea  into  proper  shape,  not 
having  Ned’s  facility  of  expression. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


365 


“Yes/*  said  Carington.  “ We  like  what  is  difficult 
to  get ; but  that  is  not  all  of  it.  I suppose,  if  bears 
were  as  easy  to  get  as  omnibus  horses,  neither  you 
nor  I would  go  after  bears.” 

“ I guess  that  ’s  so.” 

“ What  do  you  want  t o be,  J ack,  when  y o u grow  up  ? ” 
“I  shall  go  to  West  Point.” 

“Well,  and  after  ? The  army  is  not  a career,  now- 
adays.” 

“ But  there  is  first-rate  sport  in  the  West.” 

“Yes;  but  that  is  for  one’s  idle  hours.  Life  is  a 
pretty  big  thing,  Master  Jack.” 

“ What  do  you  do,  Mr.  Carington  ? ” 

“ I build  bridges,  lay  out  railroads,  generally  scrim- 
mage with  nature  to  make  life  easier  for  man.  How 
would  you  like  that  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know.”  He  had  a clever  lad’s  indisposition 
to  commit  himself.  “Is  it  easy ? — I mean,  to  learn. 
I hate  books — school-books,  I mean.” 

“ No ; it  is  n’t  easy.  But  it  is  work  for  a man.  Go 
to  a school  of  engineering  for  three  or  four  years 
when  you  are  older,  and  then  come  and  help  me 
to  build  bridges.  All  this  energy  of  yours  — all  this 
hatred  of  defeat  — this  — well,  you  have  the  whole 
outfit,  as  we  say  in  the  Rockies,  but  it  is  no  good  un- 
less you  know  how  to  do  things.  The  fellows  that 
know  and  have  no  steam,  I don’t  care  about.  Now, 
we  want  that  bear,  don’t  we  ? ” 

“ Rather ! ” 

“And  first,  we  know  how  to  get  him,  and  then 
we  want  him  so  tremendously  that  torn  breeches, 
scratched  legs,  and  the  like,  make  no  kind  of  differ- 


366  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

ence.  J ust  patent  that  combination,  and,  as  my  friends 
down  in  Carolina  say,  ‘ there  you  are.’  ” 

The  small  skeptic  returned,  “ But  we  are  n’t  there 
yet.” 

“We  will  be.  The  wind  is  up  the  gorge.  See 
those  ferns,  how  they  sway  up-hill.  He  can  get  no 
scent  of  us.” 

“ That ’s  so.  I would  n’t  have  thought  of  that.” 

“ It  is  intelligence  against  mere  instinct.  Are  you 
easily  lost  in  the  woods,  Jack?  I am.  I have  no 
resource  except  incessant  observation  of  landmarks.” 
Jack  looked  up  in  surprise.  “I — lost?  No,  I 
never  get  lost.” 

“ But  is  that  really  so  ? ” 

“Yes.  I wander  off  anywhere.  It  is  easy  to  find 
your  way  here  ; but  in  Maine  it  is  harder.  I was  up 
with  father  two  years  ago,  at  the  Parmaccini  lakes, 
and  he  almost  always  had  to  ask  me  the  way.” 

“ How  do  you  know  it  ? ” 

“I  don’t.  I go  home.” 

“ Like  a dog  ? ” 

“ I suppose  so.  I can’t  tell.” 

“But  do  you  not  unconsciously  take  note  of  the 
sun,  and  the  moss  on  the  north  side  of  the  trees,  and 
so  guide  yourself?” 

“ No  -—I  may ; I am  not  sure.  I only  know  I can 
get  back,  and  I go  pretty  straight.  Father  says  it  is 
instinct.” 

“ That  may  be.  I have  seen  guides  who  could  go 
through  a wood  without  fail,  and  unerringly  take 
you  to  camp  in  the  darkest  night.  They  cannot  tell 
how  they  do  it.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  367 


“ I never  thought  much  about  it/’  said  Jack. 

“ It  is  worth  thinking  about.  You  see  most 
instincts  are  intelligently  aided  in  man.  The  thing 
is  to  keep  your  instincts  and  help  them  with  mind ; 
but  I fancy  you  will  lose  yours  as  you  cease  to  use 
them.  What  you  seem  to  have  is  like  the  instinct 
which  brings  the  salmon  back  to  his  own  river,  the 
homing  pigeon  to  its  own  cote,  and  the  cat  you  may 
have  tried  to  lose  to  its  own  kitchen,  miles  across  the 
unknown  streets  of  a great  city.” 
u Can  you  explain  it  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Carington.  He  was  interested  in  the 
talk.  “ No,  it  is  incomprehensible.  There  are  organs 
in  the  ear  which  tell  us  the  point  from  which  sounds 
come,  and  the  eye  is  a help ; but  there  is  over  and 
above  all,  this  instinct  of  direction,  which  guides  the 
bird,  or,  still  more  wonderfully,  the  fish,  and  to  some 
degree,  I suppose,  the  men  who  have  this  capacity. 
I was  once  lost  in  a cave  in  Virginia.  After  an  hour 
of  turning  and  twisting  in  long  passages,  and  among 
forests  of  stalactites,  two  hundred  feet  underground, 
the  guide  of  a sudden  got  altogether  bewildered  and 
terribly  alarmed.  A boy  who  was  with  us  said,  ‘ I 
can  get  out/  and,  by  Jove,  Jack,  he  took  us  back, 
and  in  and  out,  and  at  last  into  the  open  air.  He 
never  paused.” 

“ That  was  a scrape.  I wish  I had  been  with  you.” 
“ Do  you  ? I prefer  not  to  try  it  again.  Are  you 
rested  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then  come.”  And  they  went  over  the  slope,  and 
began  to  go  down  the  bed  of  the  scantily  fed  brook. 


368  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

In  a half -hour  they  came  to  a small  basin  whence  the 
water  fell  into  the  pool  below.  Creeping  cautiously, 
they  reached  the  edge  and  looked  down  on  the  muddy 
shore.  The  bear  had  gone.  Then  Carington  took 
his  glass. 

“The  tracks  go  to  the  left/7  he  said.  “Come,  but 
be  careful.77 

Slowly  and  in  silence  they  scrambled  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  underbrush.  Suddenly  Carington  caught 
the  boy7s  arm  and  drew  him  back. 

“ Hush  ! 77  he  murmured.  “ Softly.  There  ! 77  and 
parting  the  bushes,  he  pointed  through  them.  A large 
bear  was  slowly  moving  along  the  curve  of  shore, 
not  forty  feet  away.  “ Your  bear,  sir  ; behind  the  left 
shoulder.  Steady ! 77 

“ No  — you,  sir ! 77 

“ Quick ! You  will  lose  him.  Steady  now ! Well 
done  ! 77  he  cried  aloud,  as  the  boy7s  rifle  rang  out,  and 
the  bear  fell,  rose,  and  fell  again.  “No!  Don7t  run 
in ! Load  ! Now  wait  a moment ! 77  And,  so  saying, 
he  moved  along  the  beach.  But  poor  Bruin  was  dead. 

“ Clean  shot,  Master  Jack ! 77 

“ By  George  ! 77  cried  the  boy.  “ What  fun  ! I 
thought  — I was  awful  afraid  you  meant  to  shoot  him 
yourself.77 

“ That  is  not  my  way  with  my  friends.  I hate  sel- 
fish sportsmen.  When  you  have  killed  as  many  bears 
as  I have,  we  will  toss  up  for  the  first  shot.  He  is 
dead  enough.77  And  Carington  nudged  the  beast  in 
the  ribs  with  his  gun-barrel. 

Jack  inspected  his  prey  with  care.  “We  must  get 
his  skin.77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


369 


“ Of  course.  Got  a knife  ? 99 
“Yes.” 

“ Then  help  me.” 

It  was  a long  business,  and  the  sun  was  well  down 
when  they  were  done,  and  the  skin  packed  in  a tight 
roll  on  Carington’s  back. 

“¥e  will  hang  up  the  meat  and  send  up  for  it  early 
to-morrow.  It  is  poor,  at  best.  Come,  Jack.  I think 
you  are  an  inch  taller.  You  have  killed  a bear !” 

“ Just  have  n’t  I?”  said  the  boy. 

“And  you  are  going  to  be  an  engineer,”  added 
Carington,  laughing. 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Jack.  “Would  Michelle  tan 
the  skin  for  me?” 

“ Yes.  It  shall  be  smoke-tanned  and  sent  down  to 
you.  Once  smoke-tanned,  it  is  fairly  moth-proof,  and 
you  will  find  it  does  not  get  stiff  after  a wetting. 
The  civilized  man  has  never  yet  learned  the  art  of 
the  tanner.” 

“ I want  it  for  Aunt  Anne.” 

“ I thought  you  said  it  was  for  Miss  Rose  ? ” 

“No.  That  was  what  you  said.” 

“ Did  I ? ” And  they  went  on  in  that  uncertain  light 
which  is  more  puzzling  than  darkness,  in  and  out  of 
the  water,  or,  with  exclamations  and  laughter,  pitch- 
ing over  rocks  and  dead  trees. 

Half-way  down  the  hill  Carington  stopped.  The 
brook-channel  they  were  following  descended  to  the 
river  in  a widening  gorge.  He  intended  to  follow  it, 
and,  after  seeing  Colkett,  meant  to  rejoin  Jack,  as  he 
had  previously  arranged.  He  now  set  the  boy  on  a 
disused  lumber- road  leading  to  the  clearing,  saying, 

24 


370  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

at  last,  “ This  is  my  way.  You  may  see  the  porcupine 
in  the  open  to  the  left,  but  be  careful  how  you  shoot. 
Confound  it ! How  much  longer  do  you  think  I am 
going  to  be  your  pack-mule?  I shall  kick.  Here, 
carry  your  own  plunder.”  And,  laughing,  he  cast  the 
bearskin  on  the  ground. 

Jack’s  face  lit  up.  This,  of  all  things,  was  to  be 
desired. 

“ I was  going  to  ask  you  if  I might  carry  it  a bit.” 
“ Were  you?  Well,  be  off,  and,  if  you  lose  yourself, 
remember  that  all  the  slopes  lead  to  the  river.” 

“ Yes.  As  if  any  fellow  did  n’t  know  that ! ” said 
Jack  to  himself,  as  he  trudged  away,  very  proud,  with, 
the  bearskin  on  his  back. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


ARINGTON  stood  a moment,  look- 
ing after  the  boy.  Then  he  read- 
justed the  straps  of  the  knapsack, 
which  he  had  taken  again  when 
Jack  had  loaded  himself  with  the 
bearskin,  and  went  rapidly  down 
through  the  more  open  forest. 

At  first  he  had  meant  to  look  quietly  about  the 
cabin,  hoping  to  find  the  place  where  the  children 
were  buried.  On  reflection,  he  changed  his  mind, 
and  determined  to  go  at  once  to  the  Colketts’s,  for 
which  he  had  a ready  excuse.  There  was  still 
enough  of  light,  but  he  had  not  as  yet  the  least  idea 
where  the  little  graveyard  lay.  Better,  perhaps,  he 
thought,  to  ask  Dorothy,  and  to  return  at  mid-morn- 
ing, when  Joe  would  be  away.  That  there  was  the 
least  peril  in  his  search  he  did  not  think,  despite 
Lyndsay’s  warning.  It  had  interested  him,  and  he 
meant  to  be  guided  by  it  so  far  as  to  have  some  other 
guide  than  Joe  in  September.  That  was  all. 

At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  he  climbed  over  the 
snake-fence,  and  walked  at  once  to  the  well,  being 
hot  and  thirsty.  Mrs.  Colkett,  seeing  him,  came  out 
of  the  cabin,  and  met  him  as  he  began  to  lower  the 
bucket.  He  turned  as  she  came. 

371 


372  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Good  evening,  Mrs.  Colkett.  Is  Joe  about?  I 
have  a job  for  him.” 

“ He  7s  ’round  somewhere.  Joe ! ” she  called,  in  a 
high-pitched  voice  ; “ Joe ! ” 

The  man  came  from  the  cow-shed,  and  joined  them 
at  the  well. 

“Was  you  wantin’  me,  sir?” 

“Yes,  Joe.  I mean  to  build  a cabin  on  the  island 
this  fall.  Remson  will  do  it.  I saw  him  yesterday. 
He  wants  you  to  get  out  a lot  of  squared  lumber. 
Can  you  do  it  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I will  give  you  the  measurements  before  I leave. 
It  will  be  a pretty  good  job  for  you.  Mind  you  pick 
out  good  stuff.” 

“I  will ; no  fear  of  that.  Want  some  water,.sir?” 

“Yes.” 

Joe  let  down  the  bucket,  and  brought  it  up  brim- 
ming. He  set  it  on  the  rim  of  the  well.  Meanwhile 
Carington  sat  on  the  ledge,  and,  tilting  the  bucket, 
wetted  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  brow. 

“ That  ?s  jolly  good.  By  George,  but  I am  warm  ! 
I have  had  a hard  tramp.”  As  he  completed  this 
brief  refreshing  of  the  outer  man,  he  looked  up,  and 
for  a moment  considered  the  scaffold  of  big  bones  on 
which  time  and  care  had  left  Susan  Colkett  but  a 
minimum  amount  of  flesh. 

He  took  no  more  deliberate  notice  than  do  most 
people  of  the  features,  which  gave  him,  however,  in 
their  general  effect,  a sense  of  strangeness  and  of 
vague  discomfort.  The  eyes  were  too  big,  and,  like 
the  cheek-bones,  too  red,  the  features  large.  Beside 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  373 


her  the  stout  husband,  muscular  and  not  unkindly  of 
look,  presented  an  odd  contrast.  There  did  not  seem 
much  harm  in  him,  and  how  miserably  poor  they 
must  be ! 

“Come  over  soon,”  said  Carington;  “I  will  tell  you 
then  more  precisely  what  I want.” 

“ He  ’ll  come,”  said  the  woman. 

“Very  good.” 

“Would  you  mind,  sir,  to  give  Joe  a little  in  ad- 
vance? I ’ll  see  he  comes.” 

“ Why  not  ? Certainly ! ” 

“ The  fact  is,  Joe  he  ’d  never  think  to  ask  it ; he  ’s 
that  modest.” 

Carington,  who  had  been  looking  at  her  husband’s 
face,  was  of  opinion  that  he  was  pretty  full  of 
whisky,  and  just  now  dulled  with  drink.  Still,  he 
was  a good  workman,  and  the  misery  in  which  they 
lived  was  but  too  obvious.  He  might  have  found  a 
more  certain  agent,  but  then  he  would  have  lacked 
excuses  for  the  interviews  which  his  present  purpose 
required. 

“ I will  tell  you  just  what  we  want  when  you  come 
over,  and,  as  to  pay,  I shall  be  glad  to  give  you  now 
a moderate  advance.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Joe. 

“ He  ’ll  come  to-morrow,  sure.  Fact  is,”  she  went 
on,  “ we  ain’t  a dollar,  and  there ’s  no  work,  and  this 
house,  there ’s  a man  in  Mackenzie ’s  got  a mortgage 
on  it,  and  the  pork ’s  about  out.” 

“ Will  you  have  to  go  ? ” 

“ That ’s  what  we  ’ll  have  to  do.” 

“ Rather  hard,  that.” 


374 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“ I would  n’t  mind  so  much  if  it  was  n’t  to  leave 
them  dead  children,  sir,  and  no  man  to  care  for  their 
graves.  ’T  ain’t  like  as  if  we  was  rich.” 

“Are  they  buried  here,  Mrs.  Colkett  ? ” 

“Yes,  they  ’re  put  away,  back  in  the  woods.  You 
might  call  that  buried.  We  are  just  clean  broke, 
Mr.  Carington,  and  that  ’s  all  there  is  to  say.” 

“ I am  sorry  for  you.”  And  he  was,  despite  all  he 
knew,  being  a man  pitiful  of  what  led  to  crime  or 
to  want.  “I  shall  be  very  glad  to  give  you  help 
now.” 

“The  lawyer  man  he ’s  coming  to-morrow,  pretty 
early.  If  we  ain’t  got  twenty  dollars,  the  cow  must 
go.” 

“ Can  he  take  it  ? I don’t  understand  that.” 

“He  says  so.  I don’t  rightly  know.  We  poor 
folk  can’t  ever  tell.  We  most  always  get  the  worst 
of  it.” 

She  played  her  part  and  told  her  lie  well,  looking 
down  as  she  spoke,  and  at  last  wiping  her  eyes,  while 
Joe  uneasily  shifted  from  one  foot  to  another  as  he 
stood. 

Carington  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  took  out 
the  roll  of  notes.  As  he  unfolded  them,  the  woman’s 
eyes  considered  them  with  a quick  look  of  ferocious 
greed.  He  counted  out  twenty-five  dollars,  and  gave 
the  money  into  her  hand,  replacing  the  roll  in  his 
pocket  as  she  thanked  him.  After  this  he  took  the 
bucket,  tilted  out  of  it  half  the  water,  and,  raising  it, 
drank.  As  he  buried  his  head  in  its  rim,  Susan 
caught  Joe  by  the  arm,  and  pointed  to  the  thirsty 
man,  whose  back  was  toward  them.  She  looked 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


375 


around  in  haste,  took  a step  toward  a broken  ax- 
helve,  which  lay  near  by,  and  then  stood  still,  as 
Carington  set  down  the  bucket.  He  had  been  nearer 
death  than  he  ever  knew. 

As  he  turned,  the  woman’s  face  again  struck  him. 
It  was  deeply  flushed ; the  large,  sensual  lower  lip 
was  drawn  down,  so  as  to  uncover  a row  of  large 
yellow  teeth,  and  the  face  was  stern. 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  she  said  again,  quick  to  notice 
his  look  of  scrutiny. 

“You  are  welcome.  Come,  Joe.  I want  to  talk 
over  the  lumber.” 

As  Joe  went  by  her,  Susan  caught  his  arm  with 
so  fierce  a grip  that  he  exclaimed  aloud. 

“ What  is  it?”  said  Carington,  pausing. 

“ I hurt  my  foot  last  week,  and  I just  stumped  my 
toes  — that  ’s  all.” 

They  walked  on  and  reached  the  house.  Here  she 
passed  them  and  went  in.  While  they  stood  a mo- 
ment in  talk,  she  moved  to  the  far  corner,  and  took 
from  its  rack  Joe’s  old-fashioned  muzzle-loading  rifle. 
She  knew  that,  as  usual,  it  was  loaded.  Then  she 
hesitated,  set  it  down  against  the  table,  and  fetched 
a bowl  of  milk  to  the  door. 

“You  might  like  a drink  of  milk?”  she  said. 
“Come  in.  It ’s  good.  Dory  fetched  it;  our  cow ’s 
run  dry.  Hers  was  better  anyway.  It ’s  right  rich.” 

Carington  might  have  thought  of  Jael  as  Mrs. 
Colkett  faced  him.  “She  brought  him  butter  in  a 
lordly  dish.”  His  thoughts,  however,  were  far  away. 

“No,  thank  you,”  he  replied,  absently. 

“Won’t  you  rest  a bit,  sir?” 


376  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GBEEN 
“No,  I must  go.” 

Profoundly  disappointed,  she  went  in,  sat  down, 
took  hold  of  the  rifle,  and  then  set  it  aside,  as  she 
listened. 

“ I am  not  over  sure  of  the  way,  Joe.”  He  knew 
it  well  enough.  “ Come  with  me  a hit.” 

“Yes,  sir.”  They  went  around  the  cabin  and  struck 
off  into  a forest  road.  At  the  brook,  which  crossed 
it  some  fifty  yards  from  the  house,  Carington  turned 
off  the  road.  He  had  brought  Joe  thus  far  with  the 
indistinct  intention  of  sounding  him  about  the  lost 
tombstone.  Suddenly,  however,  Joe  said : 

“ I would  n’t  go  down  the  trail  by  the  stream,  sir.” 
“ Why  not  1 ” 

“ It ’s  shorter,  but  it ’s  awful  muddy.” 

“ Oh,  that  does  n’t  matter.” 

“ You ’d  lose  your  way,  sure.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

The  man’s  manner  was  so  uneasy  that  Carington 
at  once  concluded  that  the  trail  might  lead  near  to 
the  object  of  his  search. 

“ G-ood  night,”  he  said,  abandoning  his  intention  to 
question  Joe.  “I  shall  take  the  brook  trail.  Don’t 
come  with  me.  I see  you  are  very  lame.” 

“Don’t  you  try  that  way,  sir.  You  — you — I got 
stuck  in  that  swamp  last  fall.  It ’s  real  bad.” 

Carington  was  now  still  more  certain  of  the  cause 
of  the  lumberman’s  persistent  warnings.  “ I ’ll  risk 
it,”  he  said  and  set  off.  “ Good  night.” 

“ Good  night.  Keep  the  left  side,  if  you  will  take 
the  trail.” 

“All  right,  Joe.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


377 


He  crossed  the  rivulet,  and  kept  to  the  right  bank. 
Joe  stood  a moment  looking  after  him.  The  brook- 
path  would  bring  Carington  full  in  sight  of  the 
tombstone,  and  the  shadows  were  not  yet  deep 
enough  to  hide  it.  A great  fear  came  upon  him  of  a 
sudden.  He  turned,  and  ran  limping  back  to  the 
house. 

“ What  is  it  ? 77  she  cried,  as  he  stumbled  in.  “ Is  he 
dead  ? Have  you  done  it  ? 77 

“No,  no ! I could  n7t  stop  him  ! He  7s  gone  down 
the  brook.  Oh,  Lord,  he  711  see  it,  and  1 7m  done  for ! 
He  7s  a-goin  right  for  it.77 

She  broke  out,  “ Here  ! 77  and  thrust  the  rifle  into  his 
hand.  “ Now  is  your  chance ! It  7s  a heap  of  money. 
Go ! go ! You  are  ruined,  anyway.  Ruined ! He  711 
see  it.  He  711  see  it,  sure.  Make  it  safe.  Quick  ! 77 

The  man  stood  still.  “ I can7t ! I just  can7t ! 77  He 
was  shaking  as  with  ague. 

“ Coward  ! Fool ! Give  it  to  me.77  And  she  tore 
the  rifle  from  his  hand. 

“ Susie  ! Susie  ! It  7s  murder.77 

He  caught  her  arm,  and  her  gown,  which  tore  in  his 
grasp.  She  thrust  him  aside  with  a blow  of  her  open 
hand  on  the  chest.  He  fell  over  a chair,  and  got  up, 
limping,  unsteady,  in  extreme  pain  from  his  hurt  foot. 
She  was  gone. 

“ I will  kill  you  if  you  follow  me,77  he  heard,  as  she 
passed  the  open  window. 

He  believed  her.  He  was  afraid.  He  went  to  the 
door,  limped  back,  and,  falling  into  a chair,  stuffed 
fingers  into  his  ears,  while  sweat  of  terror  ran  down 
his  cheeks.  A moment  passed,  then  another,  and,  de- 


378  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

spite  his  childlike  precaution,  he  heard  his  rifle  ring 
through  the  forest  stillness,  and  upon  this  he  burst  into 
tears,  and  cried  aloud,  “ Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord  God ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  rose  up,  and  stood  in  agony  of 
expectation.  The  woman  came  in. 

“ Where  's  your  powder  and  ball  ? " 

“ I ain't  none.  Last  charge,"  he  gasped.  “ Did  you 
miss  him  ? " 

“ Miss ! No.  Take  an  ax,  and  go  and  make  sure.  He 
ain't  to  be  feared  now.  I hit  him  sure.  Go  and  get 
the  money.  Have  n't  you  that  much  pluck,  you  sot  ? " 

“ I dassen't." 

“He  's  got  his  gun,  Joe,  and  I had  a notion  he 
might  be  just  crippled,  and  I 'd  come  and  get  a load 
and  make  certain." 

As  she  spoke,  he  stood  by  her,  swaying  on  his  feet, 
dazed. 

“ Great  God,  are  you  a man ! " she  cried. 

“Not  that  sort,"  he  said,  slowly.  “Did  you  say 
you  done  it,  Susie?" 

“Did  I?  You  fool!  Go  and  get  the  money.  He 
won't  hinder  you  none." 

“ I could  n't,  Susie." 

She  looked  about  her,  in  no  wise  intimidated  or 
hurried.  An  ax  stood  in  the  corner. 

“What ! What ! You  must  n't ! " he  cried. 

“Go  and  get  a spade,"  she  said.  “I  '11  fetch  the 
money.  And,  seizing  the  ax,  she  thrust  him  aside 
as  he  stood  in  the  doorway.  “You  white-livered 
coward,  get  out  of  my  way,  or  I '11  brain  you." 

He  shrunk  aside.  He  could  only  say,  “Susie! 
Susie ! Don't  — don't ! " 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  379 


“ Off  with  you  ! ” And  passing  him,  with  no  more 
words,  she  ran  around  the  cabin  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkening  forest. 

This  time  she  moved  with  extreme  caution,  so  as  to 
approach  her  victim  in  another  direction.  Neverthe- 
less, being,  like  most  of  the  forest-dwelling  women,  a 
fair  shot,  she  felt  coolly  certain  of  her  prey. 

After  leaving  Joe,  Carington  had  followed  the 
brook,  or  rather  the  trail  beside  it,  for  some  hundred 
yards,  when  he  noticed  a gleam  of  white  among  the 
shadows.  Anything  unusual  in  the  forest  is  sure  to 
win  instant  notice  from  men  accustomed  to  wandering 
and  to  keeping  all  their  senses  alert.  Moreover,  he 
was  now  keenly  observant.  He  stopped,  and,  cross- 
ing the  brook,  broke  through  the  undergrowth,  and 
stood  at  once  in  a clearing  some  twenty  yards  wide. 
As  he  came  nearer  to  the  three  little  mounds,  now 
dimly  visible,  he  saw  the  white  slab,  and  instantly  un- 
derstood that  his  guess  had  been  correct.  A little 
while  he  remained  still,  in  thought  recalling  what 
Dorothy  had  said,  and  gradually  seeing  in  his  mind 
the  pitifulness  of  it  all : the  crude  animal  eagerness 
of  the  mother;  the  rough,  unthinking  man’s  wish  to 
please  her. 

At  last,  laying  aside  his  rifle,  he  knelt  down,  and, 
unable  to  see,  felt  with  his  hands  the  surface  of  the 
stone.  “ Ah ! ” he  exclaimed,  recognizing  on  the  back 
the  dints  poor  Joe’s  tool  had  made.  Next  he  struck  a 
match,  and,  guarding  it  with  his  hands,  read  the  in- 
scription. The  match  went  out  before  he  had  quite 
done.  He  lit  another. 

“ Ah  me  ! ” he  murmured ; “ this  is  a strange  world.  ” 


380  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

And  he  read,  “ Of  such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 
“ What  a sad  business ! ” 

He  lifted  his  hand  to  cast  aside  the  still-burning 
match.  At  this  instant,  while  still  on  his  knees,  there 
was  a flash  of  light.  He  heard  no  sound,  but  fell 
across  the  graves,  motionless. 

Meanwhile,  Jack,  with  swift  feet,  eager  for  home, 
trotted  down  the  broken  road,  and,  to  his  disgust, 
finding  no  porcupines,  struck  easily  into  the  cross- 
road, and,  passing  the  boulder,  moved  away  along  the 
forest-track.  At  last  the  way  became  less  and  less 
plain ; but,  trusting  by  habit  to  his  sense  of  direction, 
he  pushed  on  into  the  wood. 

A little  surprised  not  to  meet  his  friend,  he  con- 
cluded that  he  might  possibly  have  missed  his  way. 
For  the  first  time  the  boy  hesitated.  Then,  as  he 
stood,  he  heard  a rifle,  and,  sure  at  once  that  Caring- 
ton  must  have  shot  something,  he  ran  with  greater 
speed.  In  a few  moments  the  tangle  of  undergrowth 
checked  his  pace.  Some  five  minutes  or  more  went 
by,  and  he  saw  a flare  of  light.  Thinking  it  strange, 
he  hurried  his  steps,  and  then,  of  a sudden,  stood  still. 

The  woman  had  carefully  approached  her  prey,  ax 
in  hand,  and  at  last  saw,  as  she  strained  her  vision, 
that  Carington’s  rifle  lay  out  of  his  reach.  Reassured, 
she  went  on  more  boldly.  Looking  around,  and  see- 
ing no  one  near,  she  calmly  lifted  the  man’s  head,  and 
let  it  fall.  This  seemed  enough.  She  took  the  roll  of 
money,  and  began  to  disengage  the  watch-guard;  but, 
unable  to  release  the  catch  in  the  buttonhole  of  his 
jacket,  struck  one  of  the  matches  which,  as  usual,  she 
had  in  her  pocket,  caught  up  a scrap  of  birch-bark, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  381 


and,  lighting  it,  saw  by  the  flare  how  to  undo  the 
chain.  As  she  dropped  the  watch  into  her  bosom,  a 
long  gasp  broke  from  the  chest  of  the  man  beneath 
her. 

“He  ain’t  done  for,”  she  exclaimed,  and  rose  to  her 
feet,  the  roll  of  burning  birch  in  one  hand,  the  ax  in 
the  other.  She  stepped  back  a pace,  cast  down  the 
blazing  bark,  which  flashed  forth  anew  as  she  let  her 
right  hand  slip  up  the  handle  and  lifted  the  ax. 

A voice  rang  out  to  the  left,  “Stand,  or  I ’ll 
shoot ! ” 

She  set  a foot  on  the  fading  bit  of  fire,  and,  still 
gripping  the  ax,  fled,  with  one  hoarse  cry,  through 
the  woods,  striking  against  the  trees,  falling,  tearing 
her  hands  and  clothes  in  the  raspberry  vines. 

Joe  heard  her  coming,  and  stumbled  out. 

“ He  ain’t  dead,”  she  cried,  “ and  there ’s  another 
man  there.  I got  the  money,  though.  Come ! quick ! 
Take  blankets  — go  on  to  the  road.  I ’ll  be  there  in  a 
minute.  Don’t  stand  staring.  You  ’re  drunk  ! ” 

He  was.  All  day  long  he  had  been  drinking;  and 
when  she  went  out,  he  found  his  bottle  and  emptied 
it,  half  crazed  with  fear.  He  obeyed  her  with  diffi- 
culty and  came  out  staggering  — letting  the  blankets 
trail,  and  stumbling  as  he  went.  Then  he  halted. 

“ Where  am  I going  ? ” 

“ Oh,  the  river ! the  river ! — the  dugout ! Fool ! 
sot ! The  dugout ’s  at  the  lower  landing,  is  n’t  it  ? 
I left  it  this  morning.” 

“ Yes,  it ’s  there.” 

“ Then  wait  at  the  road.” 

She  went  back  into  the  cabin,  caught  up  some 


382  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

garments,  and  threw  them  out  of  the  window.  Next 
she  raked  the  fire  out  onto  the  floor,  and,  when  again 
at  the  door,  caught  the  kerosene-can  from  a shelf, 
with  no  tremor  or  haste,  uncorked  it,  and  threw  it 
onto  the  scattered  fire.  A great  yellow  blaze  went  up, 
and  she  barely  escaped  in  time.  She  stood  a moment, 
and  turned  away  laughing.  “ There  won7t  be  much 
for  that  lawyer-man,  I guess.77  One  of  her  starved 
hens,  which  had  ventured  into  the  cabin  to  forage, 
was  hurled  out  by  the  blast,  blind  and  scorched,  and 
reeled  about  making  strange  noises.  “Gosh,  but 
that  7s  funny ! 77  she  cried,  snatching  the  ax  and  fol- 
lowing Joe. 

At  the  fence  she  found  J oe. 

“ What  7s  been  a-doin7,  Susie  ? 77 

“ Shut  up,  and  hurry,  if  you  want  to  save  your 
neck.” 

“ 7T  ain7t  my  neck.77 

“ What ! 77  she  cried.  There  was  that  in  her  voice 
which  quieted  the  man,  and  they  went  as  swiftly  as  a 
reeling  head  and  hurt  leg  permitted  down  to  the 
landing. 

“ Set  down,77  she  cried,  and  pushed  off  the  pirogue. 
“ Can  you  paddle  ? 77 

“I  can.77 

“ Then  do  it,77  and  they  went  away  into  the  dark- 
ness, down  the  hurry  of  the  stream. 

Jack  had  dimly  understood  that  something  was 
wrong  as  he  came  through  the  edge  of  the  wood,  but, 
as  the  birch  flared  up  in  its  fall  through  the  air,  he 
caught  sight  of  a man7s  body,  and  of  the  backward 
step  of  one  about  to  strike  with  an  ax.  Then  he 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  AEE  GREEN 


383 


called  to  her.  As  she  fled  he  ran  out,  and,  hearing 
the  noise  of  her  retreat  more  and  more  distant,  he 
dropped  beside  the  man. 

“It  ?s  Mr.  Carington!  Is  he  dead?  She  shot  him! 
I heard  it — oh,  this  is  awful ! What  shall  I do  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Carington  ! ” he  called.  “ Mr.  Carington  ! ” 
As  he  shook  his  shoulder,  he  guessed  it  was  blood 
he  felt  on  his  hand. 

He  stood  up  at  last,  and  listened.  There  was  no 
sound  but  the  deep  murmur  of  the  distant  river. 
More  at  ease,  he  struck  a match,  for  the  birch  flame 
was  out,  and,  bending  over,  looked  at  the  body. 

“ By  George ! he  *s  not  dead  5 he  ?s  breathing.” 
And  still  his  anxiety  was  intense.  He  took  both 
rifles,  dropped  a shell  in  each,  ran  to  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  and  laid  them  down.  Running  back,  and 
catching  Carington  under  the  arms,  he  tried  to  drag 
him  to  a shelter.  It  was  in  vain.  The  tall,  sturdy 
man  was  beyond  his  powers.  But,  as  he  tugged  at 
him,  Carington  groaned  aloud.  At  the  next  pull,  he 
spoke : 

“ What  ’s  wrong  ? Who  are  you  ? ” 

“ I am  Jack,  sir.  You  have  been  shot.” 

“Did  I do  it? — my  rifle?”  he  murmured,  feebly. 

“No — a woman.” 

“ What  ? What  ?s  that  ? A woman  ! ” The  shock 
of  the  ball-wound  and  the  subsequent  faintness,  kept 
up  by  loss  of  blood,  were  partly  over. 

“I  am  dreadfully  weak.  What  an  infernal  busi- 
ness! Where  am  I?” 

“ In  the  woods  ; in  the  woods.  Can  you  get  over 
to  the  bush  ? They  might  come  back.” 


384  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ I ’ll  try.  Great  Scott ! It  ’s  my  left  shoulder.” 
And  he  fell  in  the  effort  to  get  to  his  feet.  “ I can’t 
do  it.  Get  my  flask.  Ah,  that  ’s  better.” 

This  time  he  crawled  with  one  arm  and  Jack’s  help 
to  the  margin  of  the  clearing,  and  at  last  lay  among 
the  underbrush. 

“ Tie  a handkerchief,  tight,  here,  around  my  arm- 
pit.  I don’t  think  it  bleeds.  It  might.  Now  lie 
down,  and  keep  an  eye  over  yonder.  In  a while  I 
shall  be  better.  What  a deuce  of  a business ! Now 
keep  quiet.  Are  you  loaded  ? ” 

“ Yes — both  rifles.” 

Jack  waited,  a hand  on  his  rifle.  Presently  Car- 
ington  said,  feeling  his  pocket  with  the  right  hand, 
“ George ! that ’s  it.  I was  a fool.  It ’s  gone ! and 
my  watch ! ” 

“ How ’s  that?” 

“No  matter  now.  Halloa,  Jack,  what  is  that  light?” 
“ Light  ? ” 

“Yes,”  for  the  upward  glow  of  the  blazing  cabin 
now  rose  in  the  sky  overhead,  and  soon  began  to 
send  arrowy  flashes  of  illumination  through  the 
trees. 

“ Can’t  be  the  woods,”  said  Carington.  “ They  are 
all  wet,  and  there  are  few  pines.  Let  us  try  to  get 
out  of  it.” 

This  time  he  did  better,  but  it  was  slow  work,  and 
Jack  became  more  and  more  anxious  as  the  light 
grew  behind  them,  and  now  and  then  sparks  fell 
through  the  foliage  about  their  path.  They  were 
soon  close  to  the  shore. 

“ Stop ! ” cried  the  boy.  “ Who  ?s  there  ? ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


385 


“ Good  Heavens ! ” said  Lyndsay.  “ Jack ! J ack  ! ” 
and  Rose,  at  his  side,  repeated  his  name.  “ What  is 
wrong  ? ” 

“ I got  a little  hurt,”  said  Carington,  leaning  against 
a tree.  “ That  is  all.  It  is  of  no  consequence.” 

“He  7s  shot,”  Jack  blurted  out.  “A  woman  shot 
him.  Oh,  but  I 7m  glad  to  see  you  ! ” 

At  this  Rose  exclaimed,  “ Shot ! ” and  caught  at  a 
great,  friendly  pine  near  by  and  held  fast  to  it,  until 
a moment  of  its  stay  sufficed  to  steady  her.  “ Is  it 
bad?”  she  said,  in  a voice  which  elsewhere  might 
have  told  enough,  had  the  comment  of  her  face  been 
visible. 

“ No,”  said  Carington,  cheerfully.  “ It  is  really  of 
no  account,  Miss  Lyndsay.  Let  us  get  away.  I can 
tell  you  all  to-morrow.” 

Lyndsay  put  a strong  arm  around  him,  and,  thus 
aided,  they  were  soon  at  the  shore,  where  Michelle  in 
Carington’s  canoe  lay  ready  beside  Lyndsay’s. 

“ Mr.  Carington  ?s  hurt,”  said  Lyndsay,  and  in  a few 
words  explained  the  matter. 

Carington,  too  weak  and  dazed  to  resist,  or  indeed 
to  care,  found  himself  in  a minute  in  Tom’s  boat  with 
Lyndsay,  while  Rose  and  Jack  followed  in  Michelle’s 
canoe. 

“Down-stream,”  said  Lyndsay,  “and  hurry,  my 
men.” 

“Where  are  you  taking  me?”  asked  Carington, 
feebly. 

“ To  the  Cliff  Camp,  of  course,  my  dear  fellow.  We 
are  going  to  get  even  on  the  bear  business.” 

“You  are  very  good.”  He  was  in  dreadful  pain, 

25 


386  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

but  even  this  did  not  prevent  the  pleasant  reflection 
that  he  was  to  be  under  the  roof  with  Rose  Lyndsay. 
“ By  George  ! ” he  added,  “ it  hurts.” 

“I  know  well  enough,”  said  Lyndsay.  “You  are 
not  bleeding,  however.  I still  have  one  of  these  leaden 
hornets  in  me.  It  takes  the  pluck  out  of  a fellow,  at 
first.” 

“ I should  think  it  did  ! ” said  Carington. 

“ Don’t  talk  now.  It  can’t  be  serious.  To-morrow, 
or  later,  we  shall  want  to  hear  more.” 

Meanwhile  Rose  in  her  own  canoe  was  hearing  from 
Jack  all  that  he  knew  of  the  day’s  misadventure. 

“ That  will  do,”  she  said,  at  last,  and  fell  back  on 
her  seat,  deep  in  thought.  There  are  some  fruits 
which  only  winter  ripens  quickly. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


YNDSAY  had  just  come  in  when  he 
saw  the  glow  of  the  fire  over  the 
hilltop.  He  was  curious  and  a little 
anxious.  Wood-fires  are  of  all  things 
what  men  dread  the  most,  when 
once  they  have  been  face  to  face 
with  their  terrors.  He  called  his  men  again,  and 
ordered  them  to  take  him  up  the  river.  Rose,  who 
had  been  with  him  on  the  pool,  asked  at  once  to  go 
with  him. 

He  said,  “ I see  no  objection.  Get  a wrap  and 
make  haste.” 

Thus  it  chanced  that  in  a few  moments  they  were 
poling  up  the  stream  with  more  than  usual  speed. 

“ Halloa!”  cried  Lyndsay,  as  a dugout  shot  by 
them  in  the  darkness.  “ What  ?s  w’rong  up  above?” 

There  was  no  reply. 

“ Is  n’t  that  queer  ? ” said  Rose.  “ How  uncivil ! ” 

“ Very.” 

At  the  landing  they  went  ashore,  and  pushed  on  to 
see  what  was  the  source  of  the  blaze. 

Presently  Lyndsay  halted,  noticing  the  sparks  about 
him.  “ There  is  no  wind,  Michelle.” 

“No,  sir;  and  the  woods  are  soaking  wet.  I ’ve  a 
notion  it  ?s  Colkett’s.” 


387 


388  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Best  to  see.  I will  wait  at  the  boat.  I don’t 
want  to  run  any  risk  with  Miss  Lyndsay.”  But  at 
this  moment  he  heard  Jack’s  challenge,  and  so  all  the 
threads  of  my  story  are  spun  together. 

As  they  ran  down-stream,  Lyndsay  was  a little  un- 
easy concerning  what  might  be  his  wife’s  judgment 
as  to  his  course  in  regard  to  Carington ; but  he  had 
felt  very  deeply  the  obligation  under  which  the 
young  man  had  placed  them,  and  he  was  clear 
enough  that  there  had  been  really  nothing  else  to 
do.  Nevertheless,  he  was  shrewd  as  to  the  domestic 
management  of  the  matter.  At  the  landing  he  said 
to  Rose : 

“Wait  a moment,  you  and  Jack,”  and  then  ran 
up  the  steps  and  into  the  house. 

By  this  time  Rose  was  in  full  command  of  herself, 
and  able,  as  her  father  left  them,  to  speak  tranquilly 
enough  to  the  wounded  man. 

“Yes,  he  was  in  some  pain 5 but,  to  judge  from  his 
own  feelings,  the  trouble  could  not  be  grave.” 

Then  she  asked,  quite  naturally,  if  Mr.  Ellett  had 
been  told,  and  learning  that  he  had  not,  sent  Jack 
to  find  Polycarp,  that  he  might  take  a note  to  the 
Island.  When  Jack  came  back  with  the  Indian, 
Rose  said : 

“ I must  see  papa  about  the  note  for  Mr.  Ellett. 
Ah,  here  he  comes.”  She  did  not  wait  to  complete 
this  business,  but  turned  to  the  canoe  where  Caring- 
ton  still  lay,  and  said : 

“ Good  night,  and  good-by,  too,  for  a few  days. 
Mama  will  keep  you  well  caged.  You  may  rest  as- 
sured of  that ! ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  389 

% 

In  the  very  dim  light  she  saw  him  put  out  the 
hand  nearest  to  her.  She  took  it,  felt  the  lingering 
grasp,  already  fever-hot,  that  would  have  delayed  the 
moments  soft  prisoner,  hut  dared  not.  She  said 
again : 

“ Good  night.  Here  is  papa,”  and  moved  away,  at 
first  slowly,  and  then  quickly. 

When  Mr.  Lyndsay  entered  the  cabin  his  wife 
looked  up. 

“ What  is  it,  Archie  ? ” 

“ Don’t  be  alarmed,  Margaret.  Mr.  Carington  has 
been  shot — badly  wounded.” 

“ Not  by  Jack ! ” cried  the  mother. 

“ Oh,  no ! No.  It  7s  a queer  story.  I have  not 
heard  it  fully.  He  bled  a good  deal,  and — ” 

“ Do  you  think  him  in  danger,  Archie  ? ” 

“ It  is  hard  to  say,  especially  so  soon.” 

“ Surely  you  did  not  leave  him  at  their  camp  ? ” 
said  Margaret. 

“No.  He  is  in  my  canoe  on  the  beach.” 

“ Good  gracious  ! Is  he  ? ” 

Anne  smiled,  as  she  would  have  said,  inside  of  her, 
and  reflected  upon  the  wisdom  her  brother  had  dis- 
played, for  at  once  Margaret,  easily  captured  by  ap- 
peals to  her  pity,  was  afoot,  and,  for  the  time,  intent 
alone  upon  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

“ I would  send  Tom  to  Mackenzie  for  a doctor,  and 
he  must  stay.  I think,  Archie,  you  will  have  to  give 
Mr.  Carington  your  room  and  take  to  a tent.”  Then 
she  went  off  to  set  the  room  in  order,  while  Lyndsay 
returned  to  the  beach,  still  a little  anxious,  but  also 
a little  amused. 


25* 


390  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

Rose  had  gone. 

By  and  by  the  guides  carried  the  wounded  man  up 
into  the  neat  chamber,  where  Lyndsay  helped  him  to 
bed,  and  was  easily  able  to  ascertain  that  the  ball 
had  crossed  the  chest  beneath  the  skin,  passed  over 
the  left  shoulder,  and  out  again  — a severe  flesh- 
wound. 

“It  does  not  bleed,”  said  Lyndsay,  “and  I think 
there  is  no  very  serious  hurt.  Can  you  move  your 
arm  ? ” 

“ Yes, — with  pain.” 

“Then  the  joint  is  safe.  I have  known  fellows 
brevetted  for  things  no  worse.” 

“ But  my  puzzle  is,  why  what  is  only  a flesh-wound 
should  have  made  me  drop  as  if  I were  dead.  I can- 
not understand  it.” 

“ The  doctors  call  it  ‘ shock, .?  ” said  his  host.  “ At 
times  it  affects  the  head,  and  a man  hit  in  the  foot  or 
arm  goes  crazy  for  a time,  or  else  it  stops  the  heart, 
and  he  faints.” 

“ That  was  it,  I suppose.” 

As  they  talked  Lyndsay  put  on  a wet  compress, 
and,  with  the  skill  learned  long  since,  where  bullets 
were  many  and  bigger,  he  made  his  patient  reason- 
ably comfortable,  and  left  him  at  last  under  Mrs. 
Lyndsay’s  despotic  care. 

In  the  mean  time,  Anne,  anxious  to  know  more, 
had  looked  for  Jack.  At  ease  concerning  Carington, 
he  was  off  somewhere,  busy  about  the  preservation 
of  his  precious  bearskin,  and  Rose,  too,  had  dis- 
appeared. Anne  felt  that  she  must  wait,  and,  as 
usual,  went  to  her  room,  to  rest  a little  before  their 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  391 


retarded  dinner.  She  opened  the  door,  and  instantly 
went  in  and  shut  it.  Rose  was  lying  on  the  bed,  try- 
ing hard  to  suppress  her  sobs,  knowing  well  that  she 
would  be  but  too  easily  heard. 

“ Dear  child,  what  is  it  ? ” said  Anne. 

“ I don’t  know.  Oh,  do,  please,  let  me  alone  ! ” 

“ But  I must  know.  It  is  so  unlike  you.  Mr. 
Carington  is  in  no  danger.” 

“ I know.  I don’t  care  whether  he  is  in  danger 
or  not.  I do  care!  It  is  n’t  he!  It ’s — it ’s  me  — 
it ’s  I.  I can’t  tell.  I am  ashamed.  Are  all  women 
this  way?  Oh,  I hate  to  be  such  a fool ! ” 

Anne  sat  down.  “ I don’t  quite  understand,  dear ; 
but,  no  matter.  What  is  clear  is  that  you  are  going 
to  have  hysterics.” 

“ I am  not  going  to  have  hysterics.” 

“ Then  keep  quiet,  and  don’t  talk.” 

“ You  made  me  talk ! ” 

“ I did.  I am  an  ass.” 

“No  — no!  Kiss  me,  aunty.  I am  so  miserable! 
Could  n’t  I get  to  bed  quietly  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Your  mother  is  busy.  Come.”  And  thus, 
when  at  last  dinner  was  on  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Lynd- 
say  asked  for  her  daughter,  she  was  told  that  Rose 
had  a headache,  and  then,  when  she  got  up  to  go  to 
her,  that  she  was  asleep,  which  may  or  may  not  have 
been  true. 

At  dinner,  between  what  Carington  had  told  Lynd- 
say  and  Jack’s  very  clear  statement,  the  story  came 
out  plainly  enough.  The  boy  was  praised  to  his 
heart’s  content,  and  when  Anne  had  said  that  this  was 
courage  in  the  right  place,  and  Carington  refused  to 


392  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

sleep  until  lie  had  thanked  him,  Jack  felt  that,  includ- 
ing the  bearskin  as  a part  of  the  day’s  blessings,  life 
had  no  more  to  give.  As  for  Dick,  he  settled  the 
genus  and  the  species  of  the  bear,  and  Ned  sat  in  a 
corner  and  meditated,  seeing  the  whole  day’s  events 
in  pictures,  with  curious  dramatic  clearness. 

Next  morning  the  doctor  arrived,  and  further  reas- 
sured them.  Mr.  Carington  was  in  for  a day  or  two 
in  bed,  and  then  might  be  out  in  the  hammock. 

Of  course  Ellett  had  been  informed  the  night  be- 
fore, and  had  come  down  at  once.  When  again,  next 
day,  he  returned,  there  was  a long  consultation,  and  it 
was  decided  that  the  patient  was  so  well  that  Ellett 
might  move  down  and  take  care  of  him,  that  the  doc- 
tor would  come  back  and  stay  a few  days,  and  that 
Mr.  Lyndsay  and  his  family  might  go  away  on  Sun- 
day night.  To  this  plan  Mrs.  Lyndsay  somewhat 
eagerly  assented,  for  reasons  of  which  she  said  no- 
thing, an  unusual  course  for  the  little  lady. 

Thus,  on  Friday  and  Saturday,  what  with  fishing 
and  packing,  every  one  was  busy. 

“ Preliminaries  are  the  bane  of  existence,”  said 
Anne,  “ but  postliminaries  are  worse  ” ; and  thereupon 
she  asked  Ned  if  that  word  was  in  “ Worcester,”  and 
declared  for  a dictionary  of  her  own  making. 

Mrs.  Lyndsay  had  no  opinion  of  Anne’s  capacities 
in  any  practical  direction,  and  declined  for  a day  her 
help  in  the  care  of  Mr.  Carington.  But  now  she  was 
over-busy,  and  thus  it  chanced  on  the  next  morning, 
being  Saturday,  that  she  asked  Anne  to  look  after 
their  wounded  guest.  They  had  purposely  brought 
no  maids  with  them,  and,  even  with  all  of  Rose’s  help, 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


393 


Anne  had  been  obliged  to  assist  in  packing,  for,  as 
concerned  her  books,  she  was  as  old-maidish  and  pre- 
cise as  are  some  other  of  her  corps  about  what  Anne 
regarded  as  quite  unimportant  properties.  To  escape, 
at  last,  out  of  the  bustle  of  packing,  and  to  find  some 
one  to  talk  to  or  be  talked  to,  was  entirely  to  her  taste. 
“ Certainly,  Margaret,”  she  said. 

“ And  do  not  let  him  talk.” 

“No.” 

“ And  do  not  talk  to  him,  dear.” 

“ Of  course  not.” 

“ There  is  nothing  so  fatiguing.” 

“ No.  That  is  quite  the  case.” 

“ And  be  careful  about  drafts.” 

“Yes.  Is  that  all?” 

“ I think  so,”  returned  Mrs.  Lyndsay,  doubtfully, 
and  then  went  before  Anne  into  Carington’s  room. 

“I  have  brought  you  a new  nurse.  My  sister-in- 
law  will  look  after  you  this  morning.  You  must  not 
let  her  talk  to  you.”  And  having  thus  doubly  pro- 
vided against  the  deadly  malaria  of  conversation,  she 
went  out  as  Anne  sat  down. 

Carington  liked  the  maiden  lady,  with  her  neat 
dress  and  erect  carriage,  which  no  suffering  had  taught 
the  stoop  of  the  invalid;  moreover,  her  unusualness 
pleased  him.  Her  talk,  too,  was  out  of  the  common, 
and  full  of  enterprise.  What  she  used  of  the  learning 
or  sentiment  of  others  seemed  also  to  acquire  a new 
personal  flavor.  Mrs.  Westerly  had  once  said,  “When 
Miss  Anne  quotes  Shakspere,  it  loses  the  quality  of 
mere  quotation.  She  can’t  say  anything  like  the  rest 
of  us.” 


394  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

As  she  sat  down,  she  said  demurely,  “I  am  not  to 
talk  to  you.  Let  us  gossip : that  is  not  talk.” 

“ Oh,  no,”  he  said,  joyously.  “ I am  just  about  in  a 
state  for  mere  chat,  which  involves  no  thinking.  Mrs. 
Lyndsay  has  been  severe.” 

“ I have  to  fight  her  a little  myself,  dear,  good,  ob- 
stinate creature  as  she  is.  I suppose  she  did  not  talk 
to  you  at  all, — not  a word,  I presume  ? ” 

“ I decline,  Miss  Anne,  to  betray  the  weaknesses  of 
my  nurses.” 

“ That  is  well.  Negations  often  answer  questions 
quite  sufficiently  in  the  affirmative.  I know  she  did 
talk  to  you,  and  about  that  miserable  tombstone.  She 
cannot  help  it,  poor  mother ! ” 

“ Yes.  I thought  it  pitiable.  She  seemed  unable  to 
escape  from  it.” 

"It  is  like  her;  but  it  is  not  wise.  Margaret  is 
persistent  always.  Her  likes  and  dislikes  are  change- 
less. She  is  obstinate  in  her  kindness,  her  loves,  and 
her  charities.  As  good  as  gold,  we  say ; but  goodness, 
like  gold,  is  not  an  insurance  of  fertile  results  in  all 
its  relations.  I mean  that  goodness  can  be  sometimes 
exasperating.  But,  as  usual,  my  tongue  is  indiscreet. 
I would  like  you  to  understand  her.  She  is  worth  the 
trouble.” 

“ Thank  you.  I never  can  forget  her  tenderness 
and  her  kind  carefulness.  Never  ! ” 

" Our  real  battles  are  over  my  books.  She  says  my 
little  library  is  a wilderness  of  books,  and  every 
autumn,  on  my  return,  I find  the  servants  have  had 
orders  to  dust  my  books.” 

" How  dreadful ! ” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  395 


“ Is  it  not  ? And  the  strange  things  that  happen  ! 
I like  to  arrange  my  books  so  that  they  shall  be  happy, 
and  when  I come  home  and  find  Swinburne  in  among 
the  volumes  of  J eremy  Taylor,  and  Darwin  sandwiched 
between  Addison  and  the  i Religio  Medici/ 1 get  frantic 
and  say  things.  It  is  useless.” 

“ How  sad  ! ” 

“I  shall  assure  her  we  — you  and  I — were  only 
gossiping.  She  has  an  abiding  impression  that  I talk 
only  high  science,  and  I detest  science.  Talk  I must.” 

“ I think  it  will  do  me  no  harm.  I am  now  quite 
easy.  I have  no  fever.” 

“None,”  said  Anne,  taking  his  hand  and  looking 
at  her  watch.  “ Pulse  good,  too.  I don't  think  a 
talk  will  hurt  you.  Tell  me  when  you  are  tired.” 

“I  promise,  but  you  shall  do  the  talking.  I will 
listen.” 

“You  had  better  be  careful  how  you  give  such 
large  liberty.  Did  you  ever,  by  chance,  know  Miss 
Pearson  ? ” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  and  he  laughed,  “ years  ago  — that 
statistical  lady  in  Germantown.  I had  some  engi- 
neering work  near  there.  Oh,  years  ago:  I was  a 
mere  lad.  I knew  all  those  good  people,  Mrs.  Fox 
and  the  Mortons.  But  what  about  Miss  Pearson? 
Good  woman,  I take  it  ? ” 

“Yes,  entirely;  but  she  kept  her  religion  on  ice; 
a sort  of  east-wind  of  a woman.  She  had  that  blood- 
less propriety  which  passes  muster  for  dignity.  When 
you  gave  me  full  discretion  as  to  talk,  I meant  to  tell 
you  her  description  of  my  conversation;  I don't 
think  I shall.” 


396  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“Well,  you  are  revenged,  I think/7  and  he  laughed. 
“I  find  I must  not  laugh;  it  hurts.  You  will  have 
to  be  grave,  if  you  talk  at  all.77 

“ I think  I must  tell  you.  She  declared  that  if  I 
wanted  to  be  amusing,  I never  hesitated  to  be  either 
inaccurate  or  untruthful,  and  that,  while  accidental 
inaccuracy  was  deplorable,  intended  intellectual  in- 
accuracy was  criminal ! 77 

“That  is  surprisingly  like  her  — or  was.  She  is 
dead,  I think.77 

“Yes.  How  it  must  bother  her ! One  can7t  imagine 
accuracy  in  space,  and  where  time  is  not.  I don7t 
suppose  the  angels  plume  themselves  on  punctuality.77 

“ Really,  Miss  Anne  ! 77 

“Well,  I will  try  to  be  good.  Now,  don’t  laugh! 
Let  us  be  serious.  Do  you  suppose  folks  take  the 
seriousness  of  death  into  that  other  world?  Not 
that  I personally  regard  it  as  so  very  grim  a business. 
There  are  many  worse  trials  in  life  than  dying,  be- 
cause vital  calamities  may  repeat  themselves ; but  it 
seems  improbable  that  we  shall  have  more  than  one 
experience  of  this  exit.77 

“Who  can  say?77  said  Carington.  “I  have  been 
near  it  of  late ; but  I can  contribute  to  no  wisdom.77 

“ I like  to  think  I shall  grin  at  the  world  from  the 
safe  side  of  the  fence,77  she  returned.  “ Miss  Pearson 
would  have  said  that  a due  sense  of  the  relative  pro- 
portion of  things  would  be  inconsistent  in  another 
sphere  with  the  minute  dimensions  of  our  earthly 
jests.77 

“ And  you  call  that  serious  ? 77 

“ I do.  Don’t  you  ? 77 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


397 


“No.  I shall  have  to  ‘p’int’  the  talk,  as  Mrs.  May- 
brook  says.” 

“ And  what  shall  we  talk  about  ? If  I cannot  put 
a smile  into  my  talk,  I shall  prefer  silence.” 

He  made  no  answer  for  a time,  and  then  spoke 
gravely  enough. 

“ I have  had  a very  narrow  escape,  Miss  Anne,  and, 
but  for  that  fine  fellow,  J ack,  I should  have  been  lost 
to  this  life,  or,  if  you  like,  this  life  to  me.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  so.  I am  proud  of  the  boy.  He  has 
made  a friend,  I trust.” 

“ Yes,  and  I can  help  him.  I saw  that  in  the  talks 
we  had.  One  can  tell,  sometimes,  when,  of  a sudden, 
one  comes  into  sympathetic  touch  with  another  nature. 
It  is  like  taking  a key  out  of  your  pocket  at  need,  and 
finding  it  fit  a strange  lock  and  turn  easily,  and  so 
open  a life  to  you.  The  sentence  is  n’t  good,  but  you 
know  what  I mean.” 

“ I do.”  And  again  he  was  quiet  a little  while. 
“Miss  Anne,  may  I tell  you  something?” 

“ Why  not?” 

“ You  may  not  like  it.” 

“ Perhaps  not.  That  is  of  no  moment.  I want  to 
hear.  I always  want  to  hear.  My  appetite  for  the 
unknown  is  like  that  of  a ghost  for  realities.” 

“ This  is  real  enough.” 

“ Well?” 

“ I care  — oh,  a great  deal  — for  Miss  Lyndsay.” 

“ Do  you  Gall  that  a secret  ? It  was  arithmetically  re- 
vealed to  me  by  five  roses,  which  should  have  been  six.” 
“You  are  a terrible  woman,  Miss  Anne!  The 
witches  were  a trifle  to  you!” 


398  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ They  had  the  insight  of  wickedness.  I have  the 
sagacity  of  love.  Rose  is  very,  very  dear  to  me.” 

“ Do  you  think  it  possible  — ” 

“ That  Rose  should  care  for  you?  Yes.  It  is  pos- 
sible. But,  frankly,  yours  is  a three  weeks’  acquain- 
tance, ripened  by  unusual  events.  Neither  she  nor  we 
know  you  as  we  should  know  a man  to  whom  — • ” 

“ Let  me  interrupt  you.  I am  thinking  of  the  future. 
One  does  not  win  a woman  like  Miss  Lyndsay  in  a 
day.” 

“ You  are  right.  I think,  were  I you,  I would  assist 
the  future  to  take  care  of  itself.” 

u Thank  you.  I should  like,  much  as  I care  for  her, 
to  have  her  get  quite  away  from  any  sense  of  obliga- 
tion to  me.  I almost  wish  she  could  entirely  forget  it. 
Any  man  could  have  done  the  little  I did,  and,  after 
all,  you  are  quite  out  of  my  debt.” 

“ No  one  can  pay  another’s  debts.  The  heart  has  no 
clearing-house.  Rose  must  know  that.  You  feel,  as 
I do,  that  no  manly  nature  should  want  to  be  taken 
for  granted,  as  altogether  what  is  best  for  life,  just  on 
the  chances  of  a minute  of  decisive  action.  You  want 
her  to  know  you  in  many  relations,  and  to  know  her- 
self also.  Is  n’t  that  so  ? ” 

“ It  could  not  be  better  stated.” 

“ If  you  had  saved  her  life  a dozen  times,  she  would 
still  reflect  before  she  said  6 yes,’  and  be  the  more  apt 
to  hesitate  because  of  the  obligation.  It  is  a strong 
nature.” 

u But  I don’t  want  her  to  let  — ” 

" No.  I understand,  and  don’t  misunderstand  me. 
We  are  quite  at  one.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


399 


“ And  you  will  be  my  friend  ? ” 

“ Yes.  I like  you.  If  you  are  good  enough  for  my 
Rose  — I doubt  — Come  and  see  us ; and  be  prudent 
now.  I never  could  hold  my  own  tongue.  Therefore, 
much  conversational  adversity  makes  me  a good  ad- 
viser. If  you  see  Rose  at  all  before  we  leave,  be  on 
your  guard.” 

“ Thank  you  again,”  and  he  took  her  hand. 

“ Now  I must  go.  What  a pity  we  were  ordered  not 
to  talk ! ” 

“Dreadful,  was  it  not?  And  how  good  we  have 
been  ! I assure  you,  Miss  Anne,  I am  worlds  the  bet- 
ter for  your  visit.  Good-by.  I am  to  be  up  on  the 
lounge  on  Sunday  afternoon.  Indeed,  I am  to  be  car- 
ried out  to  the  porch.  I could  walk  well  enough. 
Don’t  you  think  I shall  have  a chance  to  say  good-by  ? ” 
u To  me  ? Oh,  yes.” 

“ Please,  Miss  Anne,  you  know  I mean  Miss  Rose ! ” 
“ Why  not  ? And  now  I must  go.” 

She  did  not  calculate  on  Mrs.  Margaret,  who  was 
now  once  more  uneasy  about  this  business,  and  had  a 
maternal  mind  to  put  in  its  way  enough  obstacles  to 
make  the  stream  of  love  run  anything  but  smooth. 
As  I have  said,  she  was  conservative.  The  unusual 
distressed  her.  Rose’s  other  love-affairs  had  been  con- 
ducted after  the  conventional  manner,  and  had  caused 
her  no  great  discomfort.  There  was  too  much  abrupt 
romance  in  this  courtship,  and  she  feared  for  the 
effect  on  Rose  of  its  singularity,  believing  it  might 
unsettle  her  good  sense  and  bring  about  a too  hasty 
result.  She  did  not  understand  her  daughter,*  few 
mothers  do. 


400  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  almost  twi- 
light, when  the  canoes  were  loaded  and  ready.  Rose 
came  down  last  and  stood  with  the  rest  on  the  beach. 
Mrs.  Lyndsay,  her  husband,  Anne,  and  the  boys  had 
said  good-by  to  Ellett  and  Carington,  but  the  mother, 
on  this  or  that  excuse,  kept  the  men  busy,  until  at 
last,  Ellett,  seeing  Carington’s  impatience,  called  one 
of  his  own  people,  and  with  his  help  lifted  his  friend 
out  on  the  porch. 

The  cliff  hid  from  view  the  little  group  on  the  shore 
below. 

“ Confound  it,”  said  the  sick  man,  “ they  are  gone  ! 
No,  I hear  them.  I think  I shall  walk  to  the  steps, 
Ellett.” 

“ You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind  ! ” 

“ Hang  it  all ! ” 

“No.  Keep  still.” 

At  this  moment,  as  Lyndsay  was  busy  putting  his 
people  in  the  boats,  and  Tom  was  thundering  advice 
and  orders  to  the  men,  Anne  said : 

“ Really,  Archie,  Rose  ought  to  say  good-by  to  Mr. 
Carington.” 

“What  is  that?”  exclaimed  Margaret  from  her 
canoe,  which  had  just  been  shoved  off  from  the  strand. 

“ Nothing,  dear,”  said  Anne.  “ It  is  really  ungra- 
cious, Archie.”  This  in  an  aside. 

“ But  Margaret  thinks  — ” 

“ Margaret  will  make  mischief  by  wanting  not  to.” 

“Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  Run  up,  Rose,”  he 
said  aloud,  “ and  say  good-by  to  Mr.  Carington.  He 
is  on  the  porch  now.” 

“ I will  go  up  with  you,”  said  Anne ; “ I forgot  to 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  401 

say  good-by  myself,”  and,  with  this  mild  prevarication 
to  assist  her,  Rose  followed  her  aunt. 

“ I came  np  to  say  good-by,  Mr.  Carington.” 

“And  I,”  said  Anne. 

“ Good-by,”  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand.  Whether 
his  eyes  were  as  prudent  as  his  tongue,  may  be 
doubted. 

“ You  will  write  to  me,  Miss  Anne  ? ” 

“ I will,  and  Mr.  Ellett  will  let  us  hear.” 

“No,  I shall  do  that  myself.” 

“ Come,  Rose,”  called  Lyndsay. 

She  turned  and  went  away  with  her  aunt.  In  a 
few  moments  Carington  saw  the  little  fleet  of  canoes 
scattering,  as  the  paddles  rose  and  fell.  Then  they 
entered  the  swift  current,  and  were  lost  to  view 
around  the  bend  in  the  river, — the  boys  calling  out  a 
loud  “good-by,”  and  then  breaking  out  into  their 
favorite  song: 

“ Seven  braw  sons  had  gude  Lord  James, 

Their  worth  no  Scot  will  gainsay ; 

But  who  shall  match  the  bonny  eyes 
Of  gentle  Rose  a Lyndsay?” 

“Who,  indeed!”  said  Carington,  as  he  shut  his 
field-glass  with  a snap. 


26 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


OSE  was  in  the  boat  alone  with  her 
aunt.  Neither  being  in  the  mood 
for  talk,  they  ran  silently  down  the 
broadening  stream  without  a word. 
The  paddles  dipped  and  rose;  the 
evening  shadows  crept  forth,  as  it 
were,  out  of  the  earlier  darkness  of  the  woods,  and 
again,  as  once  before,  they  sped  along  in  the  gloom 
of  an  overcast  night. 

The  same  soft  odors  of  earth  and  spruce,  the  pecu- 
liar smell  of  broken  water,  were  as  they  had  been. 
Once  more  the  hills  seemed  closing  in  upon  them. 
The  clouded  skies  overhead  appeared  to  be  almost 
within  touch.  Then  the  white  flash  and  roll  and 
strange  voices  of  the  rapids  went  by  them  like  the 
mysterious  uncertainties  of  a dream. 

All  was  as  it  had  been  three  weeks  before : all  but 
Rose  herself.  She  was  under  other  skies,  in  the 
strong  tide  of  a mightier  current.  She  locked  her 
hands,  and  set  herself  to  put  it  all  aside,  and  to  win 
again  the  mood  of  peace  and  serenity  which  these 
three  weeks  had  so  disturbed.  It  would  not  come 
back. 

As  for  Anne,  she  lay  against  the  piled-up  luggage, 

402 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  403 


silent  and  thought-bound.  She  was  in  the  dreary 
company  of  pain,  and  smiled  sadly  as  she  glanced 
back  over  the  years  in  which  it  had  been  her  foe  or 
friend,  and  again,  as  often  before,  wondered  how  long 
it  would  last,  and  she  be  called  upon  to  bear  it  with 
ever- weakening  physical  power  to  make  the  fight  less 
easy. 

At  the  landing,  and  while  they  were  arranging  to 
go  to  the  station,  a man  came  down  the  bank  and 
asked  for  Mr.  Lyndsay. 

u That  is  my  name.  How  are  you,  Carstairs  ? What 
is  it?” 

“ This  way,  sir,  a moment.  Could  you  let  Michelle 
come  with  me  for  half  an  hour, — or  Tom.  The  body 
of  a man  has  come  ashore  on  Caribou  Bar.  They 
have  taken  it  up  to  my  barn.  Some  of  the  men  say 
it  is  Joe  Colkett.  We  think  one  of  your  people 
would  know.” 

Lyndsay  called  Michelle,  and,  leaving  proper  direc- 
tions, went  away  with  him. 

In  the  barn,  after  twenty  minutes7  walk,  he  found  a 
number  of  men,  and  the  local  magistrate.  Two  lan- 
terns lit  dimly  the  threshing-floor. 

The  men  stood  about  silent ; the  horses  in  the  stalls 
beyond  changed  feet,  and  the  noises  of  the  never-quiet 
river  came  up  through  the  night. 

On  the  floor  lay  the  body.  Lyndsay  took  the  lan- 
tern, and  bent  over  it. 

“ Yes,  it  is  Joe ! Poor  fellow ! ” 

“ He  is  badly  cut  up  by  them  rocks,”  said  Michelle, 
“ and  his  foot.” 

“ Was  it  rocks  ? ” asked  Lyndsay.  u The  skull  seems 


404  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


broken.  Poor  fellow ! ” Then  he  took  the  magistrate 
aside,  and  they  talked  long  and  earnestly. 

“ Yes,  I got  your  message.  Thursday  night  one  of 
the  wardens  hailed  a dugout,  and  got  no  answer. 
That  was  below  your  camp.” 

“ I passed  it  also,  farther  up  — two  people.  It  must 
have  been  that  woman  and  Joe.  They  fired  their 
house, — why,  I do  not  know, — and  got  off  with  their 
plunder.” 

“We  shall  catch  her.  Do  you  think  she  killed 

Joe?” 

“ Perhaps ! As  like  as  not.  But,  if  that  woman  is 
alive,  you  will  not  catch  her.” 

“ I shall  wire  to  Quebec.” 

“And  you  will  let  me  know  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Carington’s  evidence  you  can  get,  of  course.  I 
really  have  none  to  give  myself.  The  woman  you  will 
never  get.”  And  they  did  not.  No  dugout  was  found, 
and  whether  she  too  was  lost  or  escaped  to  breed  fur- 
ther mischief,  none  know. 

Lyndsay  walked  swiftly  back,  and  rejoined  his  peo- 
ple at  the  station.  When  at  last  they  were  running 
at  speed  between  Quebec  and  Montreal,  Anne  said  : 
“Archie,  what  was  it  last  night  ? ” Why  did  they 
want  you  ? ” 

Then  he  told  her,  as  he  had  already  told  his  wife, 
the  sad  ending  of  poor,  simple  Joe. 

“ It  is  a miserable  business,”  she  returned.  “ Really, 
Archie,  the  morals  which  come  at  the  end  of  life’s 
fables  are  pretty  useless  for  those  most  concerned.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


405 


On  reaching  home,  Anne  found  a letter  from  Car- 
ington.  He  wrote : 

That  astonishing  woman  — Dorothy  May  brook  — has  spent 
most  of  her  time  with  me.  She  calmly  told  Ellett  to  go  a-fishing. 
He  went.  I have  been  admirably  nursed,  and,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, have  not  lacked  conversation.  Who  1 points 7 Hiram,  in 
her  absence,  I do  not  know. 

There  has  been  no  news  of  the  Colketts.  It  is  but  too  prob- 
able that  she  killed  the  man,  and  got  away  in  safety.  I shall 
hereafter  entertain  a profound  respect  for  the  intelligence  of 
crime. 

It  is  great  fun  to  hear  Ellett  and  Dorothy.  Do  write  to 
me  — and  say  pleasant  things  to  all  of  those  dear,  good  people 
of  yours.  Tell  Miss  Rose  I am  not  too  badly  crippled  to  ask  for 
a new  place  as  bowman. 

Yours,  etc. 


26* 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


HE  winter  days  went  by,  and,  al- 
though the  bridge  was  built,  it 
seemed  to  need  later  much  inspec- 
tion, until,  by  ill  fortune,  there  were 
bridges  to  build  in  Cuba,  and 
thither  Carington  went  in  haste.  It 
was  therefore  not  until  mid- June  that  he  reached 
home  again. 

While  busy  with  his  bridge,  and  later,  he  had  found 
himself  often  at  Lyndsay’s  table,  and  had  come  to  be 
a welcome  guest.  And  yet  he  seemed  no  nearer  to 
the  end  he  desired.  One  day,  just  after  he  had  gone 
to  the  West  Indies,  Anne  Lyndsay  had  said  to  Rose: 
“ I think  that  is  a too  patient  man : I hate  a man  to 
be  as  patient  as  that.  If  I were  he,  I would  go  away 
and  stay  away.” 

“ He  won’t.” 

“ How  long  will  this  state  of  things  go  on  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.  I cannot  be  sure.  I — aunty,  one 
ought  to  be  so  very  sure.  It  is  for  life  ! I think  he 
understands  me.” 

“ If  he  were  to  leave  you,  my  dear,  you  would  cry 
your  eyes  out.” 

“ I should.” 

“ How  many  bears  go  to  a wooing  ? ” 

“ Let  me  alone,  Aunt.  I had  better  be  let  alone.” 

406 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


407 


Then  Aunt  Anne,  who  was  feebler  than  ever,  said 
to  herself,  “Love  is  the  only  fruit  which  ripens  in 
the  spring.”  But  meanwhile  Carington  was  away  in 
Cuba,  as  we  have  said,  and  the  spring  came  and  went 
without  results. 

He  found  in  his  rooms  in  Boston,  on  his  return,  a 
letter  from  Miss  Anne  Lyndsay.  He  was  depressed 
in  spirits ; the  town  was  empty  of  all  he  knew,  and 
more  than  ever  he  felt  the  want  of  a home.  When 
last  he  saw  Miss  Rose,  she  was  still,  as  always,  pleas- 
ant, gay,  and  friendly.  He  had  never  yet  seen  fully 
the  emotional  side  of  a nature  resolute  by  construc- 
tion, and  perfectly  mistress  of  all  the  protective  ways 
of  the  world  of  woman.  Now  and  then  the  dim  past 
of  their  life  on  the  river  seemed  to  him  as  if  it  had 
never  been.  More  and  more  time,  and  the  world  ap- 
peared to  be  widening  the  distance  between  them, 
and  yet  once  she  had  looked  to  be  so  near. 

He  sat  a minute  or  two  with  Anne’s  letter  in  his 
hand.  The  maiden  lady, — “Mistress  Anne  ” he  liked 
to  call  her,  after  the  Southern  fashion  his  youth  re- 
membered,— Mistress  Anne  had,  as  the  months  went 
by,  taken  him  quietly  into  the  wide  circle  of  her 
friendships.  Her  letters,  however,  were  rare  enough. 
She  wrote  many,  but  not  often  to  Carington,  although 
from  Cuba  he  had  written  frequently. 

He  put  aside  all  the  other  notes  and,  lighting  a 
pipe,  sat  down  with  Anne’s  letter,  honestly  glad  of 
the  kindly  relation  it  suggested. 

Dear  Mr.  Carington  : I have  had  a number  of  letters  from 
yon  of  late,  and  this  is  all  I have  been  able  to  give  in  return.  I 
have  now  to  limit  myself  even  as  to  this  indulgence. 


408 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


You  won’t  want  to  hear  about  the  new  books,  and  you  will 
have,  I presume,  some  quite  absurd  desire  to  know  about  my 
good  people.  A man  would  say,  “ Everybody  quite  well,  thank 
you” ; but,  being  a woman,  I know  better  the  masculine  wants : 
only  women  write  satisfactory  letters. 

My  good  brother  is  well,  and  shamefully  busy  at  the  game 
of  the  law.  Mrs.  Lyndsay  is  just  now  in  bed.  Dr.  North 
comes  daily;  but  Margaret’s  maladies,  which  I must  say  are 
rare,  are  obstinate  when  they  arrive.  She  has  to  read  a report 
next  week  at  a society  for  the  prevention  of  something  to  some- 
thing. If  she  lets  that  day  go  by  in  bed,  I shall  be  alarmed.  A 
dose  of  duty  will  cure  her  at  any  time.  She  requires  large  doses 
of  pity  when  ill,  and  as  to  that  I am  grimly  homeopathic. 

Dick  is  at  school — and  Ned.  They  both  want  what  no  schools 
give,  some  man  who  will  know  how  to  educate  the  peculiar,  and 
not  insist  that  it  be  like  the  unpeculiar.  As  for  Jack,  he  has 
begun  to  work,  and  takes  it  hard,  and  has  more  rows  than  ever. 
One  envies  England  her  India  for  these  restless  young  Vikings. 
In  a week  we  join  Lyndsay  on  the  river. 

Carington  looked  at  the  date.  It  was  two  weeks  old. 

My  niece  is  very  well ; as  handsome  as  ever ; rather  too  seri- 
ous, as  I think:  one  wants  a little  foolish  vagueness  in  the 
young.  It  gives  to  the  human  landscape  atmosphere,  as  the 
painters  say.  If  you  don’t  know  what  I mean,  I am  sorry  for 
you.  I tell  Col.  Fox  that  is  what  the  Quakers  lack  — atmo- 
sphere. (I  call  that  very  clever : vide  Ellett.)  Fox  says  Friends 
are  rather  definite, — think  of  the  arrogance  of  calling  them- 
selves Friends,  and  a big  Falso.  This  is  the  great  and  lovely 
liberty  of  the  letter.  It  may  wander  like  a gipsy.  I think  really 
I must  go  back  and  look.  I meant  to  tell  you  what  North  said 
about  tombstone  biography.  He  called  it  “ epitaffy.”  Is  n’t  that 
lovely  ? Also,  it  has  no  manner  of  connection  with  the  rest  of 
this  meandering  screed. 

I was  saying  that  Rose  has  become  too  grave.  Do  not  be 
alarmed.  It  is  only  a mood  elongated.  And  now  I am  going  to 
do  a very  silly  thing.  No,  I won’t ! A word  to  the  wise  is  said 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  409 


to  be  enough;  sometimes  the  silence  of  wisdom  is  better.  I 
dreadfully  hunger  after  a chance  to  give  you  a dose  of  advice. 
I write  a big  1J,  like  the  doctors’,  in  due  form,  with  that  stupid 
flourish  below,  which  is,  I believe,  their  invocation  to  Jupiter 
for  luck  (they  need  it) ; and  then  — I hesitate.  Be  so  good  as  to 
fill  in  this  blank  with  what  I shall  only  think,  not  say : 

I advise  most  positively  — 

? 

7 


I can  hear  your  anathema. 

“ I should  think  so,  indeed ! ” exclaimed  Carington ; 
“and  what  next?” 

We  shall  be  in  camp  before  this  reaches  you.  I had  some 
doubt  about  going  myself,  but  I mean  to  have  all  the  joys  life 
offers,  or  that  I can  decently  lay  hands  on.  When  the  thing  is 
over,  I shall  just  say  to  my  dear  people,  “By-by ; see  you  again 
shortly,”  and  laugh  a little,  and  go  to  sleep.  I never  could  see 
why  folks  make  such  a fuss  about  dying.  The  way  some  people 
think  of  it  rises  to  the  gravity  of  a jest.  What  would  the 
goody-goody  world  say  to  that  — or  my  dear  Margaret  Lyndsay  ? 

I hear  that  you  are  to  be  on  hand  soon.  Mr.  Ellett  has  gone 
up  the  river,  and  promises  to  be  very  attentive  to  me.  I am  all 
of  a flutter.  Read  with  care  what  I have  not  written,  and 
believe  me,  Mysteriously  your  friend, 

Anne  Lyndsay. 

L’envoi. 

If  you  are  fond  of  Scotch  literature  the  poems  of  Montrose 
might  be  of  interest. 

“ Of  all  the  nonsense  ever  I read ! ” said  Carington; 
but  he  went  to  the  side  of  the  room,  where  the  long 
bookcases  overflowed  with  volumes  on  which  the 
dust  had  gathered  in  his  absence.  He  looked  them 
over,  and  at  last  found  the  one  he  sought.  “ Mon- 


410  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

trose — Graham — James,  Marquis  of,  etc.,  author  of 
certain  songs  once  popular.” 

By  and  by  he  chanced  upon  a volume  of  Scotch 
ballads,  and  sat  down.  Very  soon  he  laid  the  book, 
back  up  and  open,  on  the  table,  and  went  on  smoking. 
After  a half-hour  he  discovered  that  his  pipe  had 
long  been  out.  It  was,  in  fact,  cold. 

He  went  forth  at  once,  and  assured  his  partners 
that  Cuban  malaria  necessitated  Canadian  air.  In 
twenty -four  hours  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  river. 

Three  days  later  saw  him  on  the  waters  he  loved. 
Toward  five  in  the  afternoon  he  heard  voices  singing. 
He  knew  them  well,  and  in  a few  minutes  was  ashore 
at  a bend  of  the  stream. 

For  a few  moments  he  stood,  unseen,  a little  be- 
low the  lads,  who  lay  back  of  a rock,  caroling  their 
songs,  having  killed  many  trout,  and  filled  themselves 
with  a mighty  luncheon. 

Carington  listened  a little,  and  then  cried  out, 
“Any  bears  here  ? ” and  walked  round  the  rocks.  He 
was  noisily  made  welcome.  “ Give  me  a bit  of  some- 
thing,” he  said.  “ I pushed  on,  and  have  had  nothing 
since  nine  o’clock.” 

“ There  is  n’t  much  left,”  said  Jack.  “ Rufus  ate 
the  big  pie.  There  was  only  one  little  one  for  Ned 
and  me.” 

“ They  said  they  did  n’t  want  it,  and  I wish  I 
had  n’t,”  said  Dick.  “ Pie ’s  an  awful  different  thing 
when  it ’s  outside  of  you  and  when  it ’s  inside.” 

“ I have  observed  that,”  said  Carington.  “ That 
will  do,  Jack.  A little  marmalade,  please.  Bad, 
Dick?” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  411 


“ Very.” 

“ When  we  get  our  deserts,  we  don’t  always  escape 
whipping.” 

“ That ’s  so ! ” exclaimed  Ned.  “ Just  remember  that, 
Red  Head.” 

“ Shut  up  ! ” 

“ Behave  yourselves,”  said  Jack.  “ Fact  is,  sir,  we 
are  all  about  ready  for  a row.” 

“ Bad  as  ever  ? ” 

“ Worse  — those  two,  I mean.  I am  like  a lamb.” 

“ Or  a bear-cub,”  said  Ned. 

“ You  wait  a bit,  old  rhyme-snarler.” 

“ Halloa ! ” said  Carington.  “ Not  now,  please.  How 
is  everybody  ? and  Miss  Anne  ? ” 

“We  are  all  first-rate.  Rose  she  is  up  there  above 
us  on  the  point.  She  wanted  to  be  alone ; she  loves 
that.  She  told  the  big  Indian  to  come  down  here  and 
wait  till  we  go  up.  You  can  see  her  red  umbrella. 
She  ’s  sketching.  We  are  to  stop  for  her  at  six.  More 
bread  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Bless  me,  it  is  five  o’clock ! I must  get 
away.  What  was  that  song  ? I thought  I knew  your 
whole  repertory.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Ned,  “ we  found  that  last  winter.  Tune 
up,  J ack.  Dick ’s  got  colic  in  his  bagpipes : he ’s  no 
good.” 

“ I did  n’t  catch  it  quite.  No,  don’t  sing  it;  say  it 
for  me.” 

“ Well,  here  it  is,”  said  Ned : i 

“It  was  a lorde  of  the  North  Countree 
Cam*  wooing  a lady  of  high  degree. 


412  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ABE  GBEEN 

She  wad  nae  listen,  she  would  nae  hear; 

Till  a wee  bird  sang  in  that  lorde’s  ear: 

“ ‘ When  spring-tide  leaves  are  fair  to  see 
Brave  little  wooers  we  birdies  be. 

Give  me  for  love-luck  bannocks  three, 

And  I will  pay  a fairy  fee.’ 

“ ‘ Ye  shall  hae  bannocks  fair  and  free 
For  all  the  birds  in  the  North  Countree., 

Up  and  whistled  the  little  bird  friend, 

‘Wise  folks  begin  where  ither  folk  end.* 

“ Gay  laughed  that  lorde.  Nae  more  said  he, 

But  thrice  he  kissed  that  fair  ladye, 

He  kissed  till  she  was  red  to  see ; 

And  they  ;re  awa*  to  the  North  Countree. ” 

“And  is  that  your  notion  of  wooing,  Mr.  Ned?” 

“ Rose  she  says  it ’s  a horrid  song.” 

“ You  just  ask  her,”  said  Dick.  “ Hang  that  pie ! ” 
Carington,  laughing,  stepped  into  his  canoe,  and 
settled  himself  in  easy  comfort  against  the  baggage 
piled  up  behind  him.  “ See  you  soon,  boys.” 

Then  he  said,  “ Michelle,  you  may  drop  me  at  the 
point  where  Miss  Lyndsay  is.  I shall  walk  up.” 
“Well!”  he  said  to  himself.  “The  family  seem 
unanimous.  It  would  be  rather  funny  if — if  it  was  n’t 
something  else.” 

After  this  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  thoughts,  and 
what  fair  cheer  the  June  evening  offered.  The  good 
mother-nature  was  all  in  sympathy,  and,  foreseeing  in 
her  prophetic  heart  the  drama  about  to  be,  had  set  out 
the  stage  and  its  scenery  with  pleasant  prevision. 

For  here  was  a stretch  of  rippled  river,  where  the 
hidden  stones  set  the  waters  a-dancing,  and  there  they 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  413 


rolled  high,  and  anon  were  possessed  of  a coy  quiet- 
ness in  nooks  below  the  trees,  where  red  and  white 
tangles  of  rootlets  swayed  in  the  current  and  had  their 
fill  as  a reward  of  adventurous  growth.  The  sun  was 
just  over  a far  hill,  and  low,  so  that  all  the  long  broad 
reach  was  aglow  with  many  colors,  to  which  the  sky 
above  and  the  stones  below  lent  variety  of  help,  that 
none  might  hope  to  explain  or  paint  it,  and  that  only 
the  pure  joy  of  it  should  be  left  in  the  heart  of  man. 

And  for  it  all  this  young  fellow  in  the  canoe  was 
open  enough,  glad  to  get  from  the  sensual  tropic 
zone  to  the  cool  wholesomeness  of  that  he  saw.  Now 
and  then  he  caught  sight  of  the  red  shelter  on  the 
point,  and  tingled,  for  this  love  had  been  fed  with 
mere  memories  these  many  months,  and  now  he  had 
won  the  sweet  courage  which  is  a thing  native  to  the 
wild  woods,  and  wilts  in  the  hordes  of  men. 

Across  the  waters  a mighty  wreckage  of  vast  rocks 
lay,  where  untold  years  since  they  fell  in  some  ele- 
mental strife  from  the  granite  fortress  which  still 
towered  high  in  air.  Along  its  battlements  a few 
grim  warder  pines  kept  their  centuried  watches. 

On  the  beach  opposite  To-Day  sat,  and  mocked 
with  colors  the  massive  ruin,  untroubled  by  its  mys- 
tery. To-Day  was  a maid  in  a pink  gown,  for  pretti- 
ness — standing,  sketch  in  hand,  to  see,  with  head  on 
one  side,  if  her  sketch  had  got  the  vigor  of  these 
fallen  rocks. 

Nature,  liking  love-affairs,  had  decoyed  the  maid 
into  a moment  of  statuesque  repose,  and,  knowing 
well  her  business,  had  set  back  of  her  a bold  gray 
rock,  deep  sunk  in  ferns.  Against  its  sternness  the 


414  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  AEE  GEEEN 

strength  of  virginal  curves  stood  out,  very  fair  to  see. 
Meanwhile  the  canoe  drew  nearer,  running  close  to 
shore. 

At  last  Carington  leaped  on  the  beach,  and  came 
straight  to  where  she  stood,  flushed  of  a sudden,  and 
with  downward  hands  holding  the  picture. 

“ Good  evening.” 

“ Oh,  Mr.  Carington ! ” 

“ That  will  do,  Michelle.  Don’t  wait.  I shall 
walk.” 

The  canoe  was  off  and  away  as  she  said : 

“ It  must  be  four  miles.  Is  n’t  it  a rather  rough 
walk  ? ” 

“ It  is  nearer  five.  How  are  you  ? How  is  every 
one  ? I can’t  tell  you  how  glad  I am  to  see  you.” 

“ How  dreadfully  brown  you  are ! ” 

“ Cuban  sun,  Miss  Lyndsay.  I am  told  it  is  be- 
coming.” 

“ Indeed  ! Who  told  you  ? ” 

“ A young  woman  on  the  steamer.” 

“ Indeed.” 

Here  she  glanced  down  the  river,  and  resumed  her 
place  on  the  rock. 

“You  may  sit  down  there.  Please  give  me  that 
color-box.  Those  pines  are  so  hard  to  get  in.” 

“ Thank  you.  I shall  sit  when  I am  made  welcome. 
You  have  not  said  so  much  as  that  you  are  glad  to 
see  me.” 

“ That  was  stupid  of  me.  Of  course  I am  glad  to 
see  you.  How  did  you  like  Cuba  ? ” 

“ It  was  very  hot.” 

“Was  that  the  extent  of  your  observation?  It 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


415 


seems  rather  limited.  Do  you  think  that  lower  stone 
is  purple  enough  ? Purple  is  such  a difficulty  ! ” 

“ I wish  you  would  not  paint  now.” 

“ Why  not  ? But  I must.  I shall  never  get  just 
this  light  again.  It  is  the  most  important  thing  in 
life — that  rock.” 

“ Let  me  see.”  He  took  the  sketch  and  put  it  aside, 
out  of  her  reach. 

“ Please,”  she  said. 

“ No.” 

“ But  I shall  — I shall  be  angry.” 

“ You  have  had  your  way  too  long.  You  get  what- 
ever you  want.  It  is  very  demoralizing.” 

“But  I never  got  my  gold  dollar.”  This  was  un- 
wise. 

“ No ) you  never  will.” 

She  was  silent  now,  foreseeing  trouble. 

Meanwhile  he  sat  on  the  ferns  at  her  feet.  As  she 
spoke,  her  color-box  fell.  Carington  set  it  aside.  She 
made  no  further  remonstrance. 

“ What  o’clock  is  it,  Mr.  Carington  ? ” 

“You  are  here  till  six.  You  can’t  get  away.  What 
is  the  use  of  asking  the  time  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know.” 

“ I do.  It  is  my  hour,  Rose  Lyndsay.”  And  he 
looked  up.  “For  a year  we  have  been  seeing  one 
another  in  the  midst  of  a fog  of  conventionalities, 
and  the  game  has  been  all  in  your  hands.  One  can- 
not love  and  respect  a woman  and  wish  to  force  her 
to  abrupt  decisions,  and  she  can  always  escape.  I 
have  waited.” 

“ Please  — it  is  dreadful ! I beg  of  you.” 


416  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


“No.  I have  been  very  patient,  but  I am  so  no 
longer.  We  are  here  alone : a man  and  a woman. 
The  world  of  defense  and  excuses  is  far  away.” 

“ Oh,  if  you  only  knew ! It  is  so  hard ! If  you 
think  I have  been  happy  this  winter,  you  little  know.” 
“ How  long  is  this  indecision  to  last  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know.” 

u It  is  a simple  question : Do  you  care  for  me  ? 
Care ! No  ! I want  you  to  say  that  you  love  me! 
Oh,  plainly,  Rose  Lyndsay,  as  I have  said  it  until  you 
are  weary  of  it,  I dare  say.” 

“ How  cruel  you  are  ! I cannot.  I ought  to  be  so 
sure  about  such  a thing ; and  I am  not  — I am  not ! ” 
“ Then  I think  I will  go.”  He  spoke  slowly,  with 
measured  distinctness. 

“ I am  sorry,”  said  Rose.  “ I am  more  sorry  than 
you  can  think.” 

He  made  no  reply  for  a moment ; but,  sjill  seated 
below  her  on  the  ferns,  put  his  hands  to  his  head  and, 
looking  down  at  the  pebbles,  said : 

“I came  here  resolute  to  force  you  to  say  ‘ Yes'  or 
‘No.’  It  seemed  easy,  away  from  you.  Now  that 
you  are  beside  me,  I am  helpless.  If  I loved  you  less, 
I could  do  it.  I find  it  easier  to  carry  my  weariness 
of  waiting  still  longer.  You  are  all  my  life  to  me. 
You  have  a home  and  constant  loves : I have  no 
one  — I am  alone ! What  others  have  in  life  — sisters, 
brothers  — I lack,  as  you  know.  And  yet  — and  yet, 
I cannot  force  you  to  a decision.  If  you  are  just  to 
my  great  love,  Rose,  I must  ask  you  to  say — It 
might  be  wiser,  both  for  you  and  for  me,  if  I were  to 
be  positive.” 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN  417 


“ Oh,  no  ! no  i ” 

“ You  shall  have  yonr  way.  I will  not  trouble  you 
again : but,  I know  you  well  — you  are  a woman  of 
sense  and  courage.  If  I go,  have  I not  the  honest 
right  to  expect  that  some  day  you  will  be  brave  enough 
just  to  write  to  me,  yes — or  no  ? I leave  it  with  you. 
That  ought  to  set  you  at  ease.” 

“ But  it  does  not,—  it  will  not.  Life  is  so  hard  — 
and  I do  — I do  want  to  do  what  is  right ! ” 

“ Have  I been  too  hard  ? Well,  good-by.”  And,  so 
saying,  he  rose  and  stood  beside  her.  She  glanced 
up  at  him,  uneasy,  pitiful,  timid.  He  put  out  his 
hand,  “ Good-by.”  She  took  it,  rising  as  she  did  so. 
As  she  held  it,  he  added  : 

“ I shall  go  back  to-morrow ; a telegram  will  explain 
it.  I must  not  spoil  your  holiday.  Good-by.” 

The  hand  she  gave  stayed  passive  in  his  grasp. 

“ Let  me  see  you  once,  Rose,  before  I go.  I mean, 
look  up.” 

She  lifted  her  gaze,  and,  as  his  eyes  met  hers,  he 
saw. 

“ Rose ! ” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” 
u You  love  me  ! ” 

“ No  — no.  Oh,  I don’t  know ! ” 

Then  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and 
all  her  soul  went  out  to  him  in  one  great  sob  of  joy  and 
love ) and  in  the  sweet  pain  of  it  she  fell  to  crying, 
the  fair  head  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Oh,  Fred ! Fred ! ” It  was  all  that  she  could  say. 
“ Are  you  sorry  ? ” 

“ No  ! No  ! ” 


27 


418  WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 

“ And  you  are  sure  ? ” 

“Yes” 

“ Then  don’t  cry  any  more.” 

“ I can’t  — can’t  help  it.  I am  so  — so  glad.” 

She  stood  and  took  his  two  hands,  and  said,  “I  was 
afraid,  I was  not  sure.  Now  I know ; it  is  for  always ! ” 

“Yes,  Rose.  Sit  down,  dear.”  And  again  he  fell 
on  the  ferns  beside  her,  and  they  talked  in  the  tongue 
of  the  new  land  they  had  found,  looking  before  and 
after,  and  asking  no  more  of  life  than  the  golden- 
freighted  minutes  brought. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  fell  behind  the  hill,  and  the  glow 
of  blue  and  orange  light  on  the  waters  faded  to  dusky 
brown.  Tree  and  rock  grew  slowly  less  distinct  as 
the  shadows  crossed  the  stream ; but  on  their  world 
another  sun  arose,  and  with  touch  of  hands  they 
stayed,  talking  of  the  life  of  love  and  duty  and  com- 
mon helpfulness  which  lay  broad  and  beautiful  before 
their  eyes. 

At  last  they  heard  the  paddles,  and  their  hands  fell 
apart. 

“How  late  you  are,  boys ! ” 

“ Yes ; the  trout  were  rising.  I ’m  awful  sorry,”  said 
Ned. 

“ So  are  we,”  returned  Carington.  “We  have  been 
horribly  bored  — Miss  Rose  and  I.  I will  go  up  in 
your  boat,  Miss  Lyndsay,  if  I may.  It  is  late  to  walk.” 

“ Certainly.” 

She  had  now  a little  gold  dollar  in  her  shut  hand,  and 
was  silent  enough,  till  he  left  her  at  the  Cliff  Camp. 

She  went  up  the  steps  slowly.  What  had  an  hour 
done  with  and  for  her  ? She  was  very  happy. 


WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN 


419 


“Pleasant,  is  n’t  it?”  said  Anne.  “G-et  a good 
sketch,  dear?  Mama  and  your  father  are  still  out. 
Come  here,  nearer;  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“Was  n’t  that  Mr.  Carington  I heard  on  the 
beach  ? ” 

“ Yes.  He  stopped  when  he  saw  me  sketching.” 
“Yes.  Come  and  kiss  me,  Rose.” 

The  girl  bent  over  her. 

“ I am  so  glad ! ” 

“Glad?  Why?” 

“ Go  and  wash  your  face,  and  change  that  ribbon, 
Miss  Ostrich ; but,  for  heaven’s  sake,  don’t  let  Mar- 
garet know  I guessed  it.” 

“No!  no!  Dear  Aunt  Anne!  I am  so  very 
happy ! ” 

“ And  I,  my  darling.” 

“ Will  Pardy  like  it  ? ” 

“ Very  much.” 

“ And  Mardy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh,  here  they  come, — I must  run.  I want — I 
want  to  be  alone,  just  a little.” 

“ Kiss  me  again,  Rose.” 

Then  the  girl  fled  in  haste ; but  Anne  said,  “ And 
now  I should  like  to  live  a little  longer.” 


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